Break Me Down and Build Me Up Again
by Zoi Balletta
Summary: After 17 years of neglect and abuse from his father, Antonio "Racetrack" Higgins never expected that he would actually get pulled out by CPS. Now he lives in a group home, all to aware of what it's like to live a shitty life, but sometimes you gotta make the best out of a shitty situation. His roommate Sean "Spot" Conlon might be able to help him. SpRace SpotxRace Spot/Race Slash!
1. When the World Falls Apart

**When the World Falls Apart**

The punch was no surprise to a certain Antonio "Racetrack" Higgins. He was used to being smacked around, it was simply a part of life to him, nothing special, just how the world worked. If he broke a dish: smack. If he burnt some toast: smack. If he was to loud: smack. If he was too quiet: smack. Sometimes it wasn't for anything, just because Gennero Higgins had had a bad day at work - though Race wasn't really sure if dealing and pimping could be considered a job - he would get a smack.

Sometimes it was left at that, just a painful hit to the head, and then back to normal business. But sometimes, when his father had had a bad day, or was more drunk than most people could think humanly possible, it wouldn't stop for what seemed to be hours. Hit after hit would strike Race's small frame, and at first he might defend himself, fight back or try to run, but it never seemed to work. He would always eventually be dragged down - fighting tooth and nail mind you, he wasn't one to give in without a fight - and then all he was ever able to do would be to cover his head and curl into the fetal position as punches turned to kicks and angry grumbles turned to almost inhuman sounding howl of accusations.

Today was different though. The look in his father's eyes was one that Racetrack had never seen before, it wasn't the usual angry coals still hot from a red hot fire, it _was_ the fire. Gennero's eyes were burning like a star that was about to supernova. Race's heart seemed to gallop like a horse that had just been let out of its starting stall, before it seemed to stop in his chest. His father was holding up the one thing he had been stupid enough to keep in the house that even slightly displayed his sexuality. It was an old porno mag, which he had hidden in an old school binder on a bookshelf he had in his room, thinking that there was no way that his father would ever look there. He didn't have a fucking clue why his father would be looking through his old school shit, but he didn't have time to think about it before the first punch sent him reeling backwards.

"Ya little queer! I won't have a goddamn ass digging fag for a son!" His father spat each word like it caused him physical pain, spraying his son's face with spittle, before he pulled his fist back second hit was worse than the first, making his head feel like it was being split in two slowly and painfully by a blunt ax as hit after hit assaulted his cranium. He kicked his legs wildly, trying to get his father off, and managed to nail the larger man with a hit to the stomach. He tripped over his own feet as he scrambled up and backwards, before turning tail and running as fast as his feet would carry him away from the madman still screaming obscenities at him as he ran after his terrified son. Race's hand was on the doorknob, and he was about to throw himself out of his shitty little house in southeastern manhattan when his father grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled him back so fast that he choked as the collar pulled around his neck. His father's hands moved from his shirt to the back of his neck, and he smacked Race's head into the wall to the left of the door, bringing a scream of pain out of his son. The impact caused Racetrack to slip down the wall as he tried to gather his thoughts after the impact of head against wall, but before he managed to gather his thoughts, he felt a kick to his stomach, knocking the wind out of him, and by the feel of it, cracking a rib. He looked up at the man who had raised him for the last 17 years of his life, and saw nothing but hatred. He hadn't loved his father in the entirety of his living memory, but he had never felt truly hated by the man. Disliked, yes. Unwanted, definitely. But never outright hated. But the way he was looking at him now, Race was sure that his father could kill him and not bat an eye about it. He looked right at his older counterpart, whose face was read with anger, and almost in slow motion, he saw the fist come back, then rocket towards him with intent, and he did what any scared 17 year old would do. He screamed.

He screamed until his throat was raw and the screams wouldn't come anymore, he screamed like he had never screamed before, calling for help from anyone, but even then the hit's to his body didn't stop, again and again he received blow after blow until suddenly he heard the sound of a door busting open, and someone shouting. He stayed conscious just long enough to feel the relief of his father being pulled off of him, before letting the pain take over, and letting everything go black.

* * *

When Race woke up, his mouth felt like it was filled with cotton balls, his head hurt like a motherfucker, and he felt like he was about to throw up. He had just enough time to turn onto his side before he upchucked, the puke luckily ending up on the floor, instead of in the bed with him. He groaned and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, rubbing away the sleep, and proceeded to survey his surroundings. He appeared to be in a hospital, he shared a room with an empty bed, but someone clearly was staying there, as there were pictures put up on the walls nearby. Besides the few pictures, the walls were pretty clear, there was some sort of box near the door that seemed to hold medical supplies. He closed his eyes tight for a second, trying to clear his head, before surveying his own body. He had what appeared to be a brace on his left leg, and he could feel tight bandages around his ribcage when he took a deep breath. He sighed and leaned back onto the pillow. So that really had happened, it hadn't been some sort of crazy fucked up dream that his subconscious had created to scare the living hell out of him. What was he supposed to do now? He wouldn't be able to go back to his father, but maybe he would be able to sneak into the house while the old man was on a drug run and grab some money and clothes. But where would he go? He didn't know of any other family to take him in, his mom had died when he was barely 9, and she had no siblings he knew of. He didn't have any friends with good enough home lives that he could stay with them.

To be honest he didn't have many friends at all, just two whom he had known sense he had been in diapers, David and 'Blink'. It wasn't that David came from a _bad _family, Esther was a sweet amazing Jewish mother who doted on David and his friends, but they had their own problems, the Jacobs were dirt poor with three children and a father who was on disability due to a work related incident, which didn't pay as well as they had hoped it would. And Blink, well, ever sense his mother had caused the car crash that killed her husband and daughter and blinded her son in one eye, she had been... Well... Off. Like she would talk to people who weren't there, set 4 table places instead of two, and when her son would say anything about his father and sister in the past tense she would freak out.

So where was he supposed to go? Surprisingly enough for someone in his town, he hadn't dropped out of school yet, he assumed it was probably because of David, who was kinda like a Jewish mother himself to Blink and Race. Now there seemed to be no choice but to drop out of school if he was going to work enough to get a place to live. Then again, all he had was a shitty part time job at a grocery store, and who was going to hire a 17 year old beaten up kid full time.

He thought back to the last thing he remembered before blacking out, trying to draw details from the foggy pain filled memory. A door breaking open, a shout, someone grabbing his father. He tried to pull some details about the man who saved him, but nothing would come to him, except that the man seemed to be wearing some type of uniform. He thought about that for a minute before it clicked in his head. Hospital, uniform, someone actually caring enough to help him. The man must have been a police officer, which certainly changed things. Even if he felt like an old soul, he was in fact still under the age of 18, and if a cop had walked in while his father was in the process of beating the shit out of his own son, then his father must be going to jail, and he would be going into foster care. Well, shit.

**Well Hi there! Zoi here, and this is my first ever story, so I hope that you like it. Reviews are totally welcome, and I accept criticism, but don't be a dick about it. As the story progresses it would be great to get some comments about what you would like to happen, because I, like most writers, get a shit ton of writer's block after the first few chapters. Anyway, Read and Review my friends! (Especially the reviewing part!)**


	2. Bruises, Bad Jokes, and Best Friends

**Bruises, Bad Jokes, and Best Friends**

What felt like hours later, a man wearing scrubs walked in, followed by a boy sporting a crutch and a smile. Upon seeing that Race was awake, the man smiled and walked over towards him.

"And how are you feeling Antonio?" It took a second for the question to register in Race's still slightly foggy brain, before he looked up at the man and answered,

"Okay, I guess, I'm just not entirely sure on what happened..." He rubbed his eyes again and trailed off.

"Has nobody been in to speak to you?" The man - Was he a doctor? A nurse? - questioned, and Racetrack shook his head no, then peered over at the boy with the crutch, who had sat on the empty bed, and was looking quizzically back at him, they made momentary eye contact before Race everted his eyes and instead looked back at the man, who had been speaking to him without him realizing it.

"-so I'll be right back and bring your social worker with me" Race nodded again, though not really sure what he was agreeing _to_, and watched the man walk out, and picking at his hospital gown, painfully aware of the other boy in the room.

"My name's Crutchy," Race's head snapped up as the other boy - Crutchy - spoke.

"Crutchy?" He asked, incredulous that someone would really go by a name about their disability. Then he remembered that he called Ryan 'Blink' for basically the same reason.

"Well, Charles, but I like Crutchy bettah," 'Crutchy' had a giant smile stretching across his face, and he was looking at Race like he expected him to say something.

"Oh, oh yeah, I'm Racetrack" He smiled as he introduced himself under his nickname,

"I'd shake your hand but I appear to be immobile" He gestured down at his recently injured leg.

"Join the club" Crutchy held up his crutch, but kept the giant smile on his face.

"That what you here for?" Race questioned, nodding at the crutch.

"Well, kinda, born premature, so I ended up with a foot not fully formed, and a ticker that needs some assistance." He tapped his chest, the smile still in place, it seemed that not even a lifelong illness could keep this guy from smiling.

"Well, I was born on time, but somehow I still got a brain that need's assistance" He smiled a little as he said it, and Crutchy let out a nasal laugh, his smile stretching impossibly larger.

"Do you know how long your heah for?" Crutchy, he started to notice, had a surprisingly strong accent for someone born in the 21st century, he sounded like he was from 1900s Queens or something, saying 'heah' instead of here, but then again, it agreed with what Race could sense of his character so far.

"No clue, just woke up, don't even know how I got here,"

"Well, at best guess, ya got da snot beaten outta ya, you got some nasty bruises on your face," Crutchy gestured to the left side of his own face, pointing out where the bruises must be, and Race felt his cheekbone tenderly, really feeling the beating for the first time.

"That bad huh?"

"You looks like you've been trampled by a horse," Crutchy's smile faded just a little bit as he assessed the damage.

"But if ya didn't even notice it, then it must not be as bad as it looks!" And the smile was back again, Race was sure that he couldn't pay the guy to keep a straight face for more than two minutes.

"Yeah, it ain't too bad" He muttered absentmindedly, moving his hand up a little bit to his temple, and finding a couple small bandages there, so there must have been broken skin, but it really wasn't as bad as it could be.

"Doctah Johnson said he was gettin your social workeh befoah he left, so are you an orphan too?"

"You're an orphan?" He looked up at Crutchy, surprised by how open he was about it, he wouldn't want people to know if his parents were dead, he couldn't stand pity. But Crutchy didn't look upset, he just nodded, still smiling.

"Yep, nevah knew my parents, but are you one? They'se got a habit of puttin me in with other orphans, like we'se supposed ta bond ovah not havin parents or somthin like that," Crutchy rolled his eyes and let out that nasally laugh again.

"I don't really know, my head's still foggy on details," Well that all but confirmed his earlier conclusion that he must be going into the foster care system. While he had not had a happy home-life in the least, he had heard stories from old friends in the system, about how you didn't get food sometimes, how some parents would beat you, how some of the really twisted fucks would rape the children would rape the children they were supposed to be taking care of. While he had often wished to get out, to get away from his father, he had never wanted to end up in the system.

Suddenly, the door burst open again, and the man in scrubs from earlier, Crutchy had called him Dr. Johnson, came in, followed by a man in a crumpled suit. The man in the suit came forward to introduce himself,

"I see that you're awake Antonio" Race nodded.

"Yeah, I'd noticed, now I just wanna know what the hell happened," He stared at the man, who appeared to not have slept much, and didn't seem to happy to be talking to Racetrack.

"Why don't we go for a little walk?" He asked, though it didn't appear to be much of a question, as he gestured for Dr. Johnson, who walked out of the room, and returned a second later with a wheelchair. Before he knew exactly what was happening, he had been picked up and relocated to the chair, and was being wheeled out the door.

"You know I'm not a baby, and am completely capable of getting into a chair myself," He snarled, he hated being picked up, it just reminded him that he looked young for his age, and was only 5'2" tall.

"I know," The social worker said absentmindedly

"So," Race prompted

"What exactly happened?" The man sighed and nodded, started to wheel Race down the hallway, then proceeded in a sad, yet matter of fact voice.

"Last night, a man walking through your neighborhood heard a disturbance - you, screaming - and called 911, he remained on scene until the police arrived, and will be a witness at your father's hearing. Anyway, when the police arrived on scene, they could hear the sounds of a fight, and used that as probable cause to enter your house without a warrant, Officer Blake entered the house first to find your father assaulting you, and arrested him to be processed on charges of child abuse. You passed out shortly after, and were brought immediately to the hospital to be treated. You have a minor fracture in your leg, three cracked ribs, and a concussion. You will be at the hospital for one more night to make sure that everything is in order, then you will be going to live in a group home until your father's hearing. We would like you to testify against him, and insure that he will be sent to jail for a long time, but if you're uncomfortable with that, we will be able to make a case without your testimony. I'm your social worker, my name's Riley Feldt" After the long speech there was an even longer silence as Riley continued to roll the younger man down the hallway. It was taking a while to absorb all he heard.

His father in prison? A group home? So he wouldn't be fostered? He wouldn't have a live with a strange family in a strange place? How the hell had he even managed to break his leg? A trial? How was he supposed to testify against his own blood? He had learned all his life that family is all you've got, and you have to fight for your family, even if they do horrible things to you, blood is strong, and if you have to, you lay down your life for your family. To testify against his own father? For smacking him around? His father's side of the family was large, and they were tough, and if someone sent their brother to jail, well, lets just say that they would be going on a little trip to the bottom of the ocean. No, there was no way he could testify, let them do it themselves, he wouldn't turn on his own blood.

"I won't do it" He finally said, looking up at Mr. Feldt,

"I won't testify," The man gave him a resigned look,

"If you testify, it will insure that you're father won't see daylight for years, if the jury see's the victim, their often more willing to pass a harsher sentence, it would be-"

"I. Won't. Do. It." Race said very slowly, staring straight ahead, Riley didn't get it, not only did this go against everything he believed in, it would end up costing him his head if he did it. The taller of the pair sighed, and turned the wheelchair around, heading back towards the room in silence.

* * *

Luckily enough, Crutchy was fairly easy to get along with, he laughed easily, he didn't pry into things that weren't his business, and he was a pretty cool guy, if a little annoying at times. They spent the day exchanging jokes, Crutchy seemed to be able to tell that he was on edge, and was using stupid humor to make him feel better. He replied with his own brand of sarcastic jokester.

"Where do animals go when there tails fall off?"

"I dunno, the vet?"

"The re_tail_ store" Race snorted and brought his hand up to his face, most of these jokes were so stupid that they were actually kinda funny. He was about to reply with a joke of his own when the door opened and two teenagers came in. One was slightly taller, with brown curly hair and wide brown eyes. The other had shaggy blond hair, with a brown eyepatch over his left eye, and an irritated expression on his face. David looked at Crutchy apprehensively before glancing at the other bed, and seeing Racetrack. Blink walked right up to him and said,

"You little shit! You get yourself sent to the hospital and don't even call? Whats wrong with you?!"

"I think that we've established in the past that it's a lot Blink, seeing as the idiot left us to figure out where he was through the talk of the neighborhood" David added, then proceeded to pull up a chair, while Blink took a seat in the wheelchair by his bed.

"Well, excuse me if I was to busy being hospitalized to think of your whiny face," Race mock glared at Blink before they both broke into wide grins.

"So what'd Mussolini blame you for this time? Or was he just in one of his _moods_" Blink wrinkled his nose around the word. David and Blink knew full well how his father treated him, and they had long been trying to get him to do something about it, to get his father busted on a drug run or something, but he had always adamantly refused, and then changed the subject, he hated talking about it.

"Found that dirty mag you gave me last month" Race replied, keeping his tone light.

"No shit? Where did you put it? He must have gone fucking insane!" Blink had a slightly guilty expression on his face, it had been his magazine.

"You mean more than usual?" David chipped in.

"Yeah, never seen him so angry, good thing some people in the world aren't as shitty as my neighbors, some guy walking through the neighborhood called it in, I'm goin to a group home tomorrow" Blinks jaw dropped, and David's eyes widened a little bit.

"Wow, never expected this to happen," Blink said, doing a wheely on the wheelchair.

"Well, what did you think would happen, the state would let a 17 year old live on his own?" David interjected.

"I never really thought that far ahead," Blink muttered thoughtfully

"Why am I not surprised?" Race stated dryly and snapped Blink's eyepatch against his head. Blink straightened the patch and huffed in annoyance. Race glanced over towards Crutchy, to find the boy observing the scene with an almost wistful expression.

"Oh yeah, sorry, guys, this is Crutchy" He gestured towards the other bed

"And Crutchy, these are my friends Blink and David, I think you can figure out who's who." He smirked at the end of the statement, and Crutchy nodded.

"Hiya guys" Crutchy said with his usual smile.

After that it was back to usual business, with Race and Blink teasing each other while David struck up a conversation with Crutchy. The rest of the day went by fairly quickly. About a half hour after David and Blink arrived, Race had been taken to get his leg brace replaced with a cast, which would have to stay on for just a week, and he was given a set of crutches to use until then. When he came back to the room he told Crutchy he might be stealing his nickname, and the boy had just laughed and laughed. A few hours later, David and Blink had to go, visiting hours were over, and it was back to just him and Crutchy.

Fast forward another couple hours to find Crutchy asleep, and Race laying on his back staring at the ceiling. In just a few short hours, he would be going to a group home, he would be a foster kid, he would truly not have a family. He had never felt much love towards the family he had, but they had been there, he had been a part of something. And so what if being a part of something had involved getting beat up and doing drug runs with his dad occasionally, that was just the cards he'd been served. He may not have loved his old man very much, but he was who taught Racetrack to gamble, which horse to bet on at the sheepshead, where he had spent most of his time growing up. Now that was gone. What was he supposed to do now? Who was he supposed to be? He rolled over and closed his eyes, deciding that he would leave that for the morning.

**Hi there! So I think the story's going okay so far, if a bit slow, but hang with me, I just gotta get everything set up before I can get into the main plot. I tried to not make Crutchy's accent too strong, because I know nowadays nobody talks like that anymore, but I needed someone to sound like they do in the movie, and I just ****couldn't imagine Crutchy with a different voice, It's such a part of his character. Anyway, REVIEW PLEASEEEEEE! Good day!**


	3. Home is Where the Heart is

**Home is Where the Heart is**

The next morning went by weird. Time seemed to rush, and then slow down to the point where things seemed to all but stop moving. At least thats how it was for Race. After what felt like hours and minutes at the same time, he was being helped to a car that would take him by his old house - how weird it was to refer to it thusly - to retrieve clothes and school supplies and such, before heading off to the group home where he would be temporarily living. He was told that he would be retrieved in a week to return to the hospital to have his cast removed, and to check up on his wonderful little assortment of injuries. He nodded and smiled at the doctor before hauling himself into the front seat of the car and drumming his fingers on the hand rest, before Riley got his ass into the car and they set off.

As they walked through the shitty house in a shitty neighborhood, Racetrack was hit by an odd sense of nostalgia. This was where he had lived for all his life, where his mother had lived, where he had hung out with David and Blink after school when he was little, where he had become who he was. And now what was it going to be to him? Just a memory? His old home? It was so weird to him, and it didn't feel quite real yet. He hobbled his way through the house with Riley walking behind him carrying a duffel bag for his clothes and assorted other shit. When he got to his room, it looked no different then it had three days ago, or a week ago, or a year ago, or so on. Bed stuffed into the corner, a small table beside it. A bookshelf cluttered with years of life, A dresser with the bottom left hand drawer handle broken off. The floor almost unseen under clothes papers. The walls covered with posters and mindless doodles.

It was all the same. Every last bit of it. But at the same time, everything was different. This was no longer _his_ room, where he would sleep and sketch and listen to music. This was no longer his own little safe haven from life. He stared around for a minute, before making his way to the dresser, leaning his crutches against it, and mechanically opening drawers and removing clothing. He took the majority of it, leaving a few too small T-shirts, a pair of jeans that he should have thrown away years ago, and 5 socks with holes in the toes.

He picked up his backpack from the floor and filled it with binders, folders and any pencils he could manage to scrounge up, then looked around the room again. He grabbed a set of headphones from the bedside counter, and his iPod from the drawer, his sketchbook and some random knick knacks that he didn't even actually use that much. He picked up the picture on top of his dresser, his favorite picture of his mother, and put it into the bag, then put on his backpack, gestured at Riley to get the duffel bag, grabbed his crutches, and headed out of the room, down the hallway, and straight out of the house, getting into the car, and not looking back

* * *

The group home looked like a rather short apartment building from the outside, and was set up on the inside like dorms you might find in a boarding school. When you walked in, there was a common area, with three worn couches spread about, two of which were in front of a relatively large television, while the third sat in front of a beat up smaller one. There were bored games spread about on the carpeted floor, and two tables, one of which where a few teenaged boys were playing what appeared to be rummy.

There was an open door that lead to what looked like a dining room - two long tables with chairs around them were all Race could see in the room - on the righthand wall, and another closed door a bit farther down on the same wall. There was one door on the lefthand side of the room, and one on the wall across from the entrance, both looked like they were able to be locked. Riley led him over toward the door on the left side of the room, and knocked on it.

A grumbling voice sounded from the inside of the room, and a minute later the door was unlocked and opened by a man who looked about 5'10" tall, with hair that was mostly grey, but with bits of dark brown thrown in. He looked to be at least in his 70's, but might be even older.

"Are you da new boy?" His slight difficulty understanding Crutchy was nothing compared to how this man sounded, and he had to think hard to get what the man had said, it sounded more muffled then accented. Luckily, his social worker seemed to have gotten it just fine.

"Yeah Mr. Kloppman, This is Antonio Higgins" Riley nodded at the old man, who's name was apparently Kloppman, and put his hand on the space between Race's shoulders.

"Oh, well, come on in, come on in." This time he listened with more concentration as the man spoke, and followed him into the room. It seemed to be made up like a small apartment. There was a tiny kitchen off to the side, a couch and a couple soft chairs in the middle of the room, facing the oldest version of a television Race had ever seen. Kloppman walked over to another room, opened the door, and gestured them inside. It was a small room, with a desk in the middle, Kloppman sat behind it and waved his hand at the three wooden chairs on the other side as if telling them to sit down. They sat, Race leaning his crutches on the third chair, and then Kloppman looked up at them.

"So you're Mr. Higgins are you?" Race nodded a yes, and Kloppman got out a piece of paper.

"You're gonna be in room 2c, I'll get another boy da show ya where dat is later. Dis is an all boy's group home for teens. We eat breakfast from 6:30 to 8:00 and you'se will be expected to get up by then. Curfew is at 8:00, and you'se gotta be in your room at 10:00. Lights out is at 11. After that I lock you'se all in the dorm part of da home for da night. There are bathrooms on every floor, and that's the only reason you're allowed to leave your room past 10:00. Mr. Wiesel makes lunch at noon, but most of da boys make themselves food anyway. Dinner is at 6:30, and everyone is expected to be there unless the told me in advanced they would be somewhere else. Besides that, you just gotta sign out and sign in when you come and go. Did I cover everything?" Kloppman looked over at Riley, who nodded for a second then added,

"You can bring friends, but they can't go to the rooms without Mr. Kloppman's permission, they gotta stay in the commons." Kloppman nodded, and looked over at Race.

"You got dat?" Race, who had just been trying to figure out what words were coming out of Kloppman's mouth, stared for a second before responding.

"Yeah... Yeah I think so." He would have to figure out the rest of it later.

"Good, here's your room key, I'll have Jack show you up, you wait here." He shuffled out of the room, leaving Riley and Race sitting in the chairs silently, Race holding a keyring with three distinctly different keys on it.

"If you have any problems or anything... Here's my card." Race looked over at Riley, and took the card that he was handing him.

"I'm pretty sure I'll be okay. But thanks, I guess." He shoved the card into the back pocket of his jeans, fairly sure already he wouldn't use it, and waited for this 'Jack' to arrive.

Kloppman walked back into the room about 5 minutes later with a tall boy, who Race assumed to be Jack. He had shaggy brown hair that he had pushed back off his forehead, brown eyes, and a smile on his face. He had on worn jeans and a baggy long sleeved shirt with a button up collar, and a bandana around his neck. The sleeves were pushed up past his elbows, and he stood with his hands in his pockets. He spotted Race and held out his hand.

"Jack Kelly, I'm supposed to show you around." He greeted. Race shook his hand and responded.

"Tony Higgins, good to meetcha" He stood up and grabbed his crutches.

"I'll go get your stuff and bring it up to your room in a little bit Antonio, I got to talk to Kloppman about some stuff first okay." Riley told him, and then smiled at Jack, who led Race out of the mini apartment.

When they entered the living room area, which Race assumed would be the commons, Race found himself being stared at by the boys who had been sitting at the tables playing cards when he had walked in.

"Who's the new guy Cowboy" one of the boys said. Race looked over at them. The boy who had spoken was tall and skinny, with blond hair parted in the middle and falling on either side of his glasses. The boy next to him was slightly shorter, but not by much, and had hair that seemed like he must constantly run his hands through it, He had brown hair and brown eyes, and was twirling a pencil in his hand absentmindedly. The third and final boy who was currently downstairs had moderately dark skin, brown puppy dog eyes, shortish curly brown hair, and was about the same hight as the second boy.

"His name's Tony" Jack's comment snapped him out of his own staring, and he raised his right hand slightly while still balancing on his crutches.

"Hi" he attempted a smile, but suspected that it came out more as a grimace. The boys all waved a little too.

"I'm Mathew" the mocha skinned boy said, then gestured to the boy next to him, "This is John, and that's... Well... God, Dutch, I don't even know your real name!" The blond boy smiled at the boy who spoke

"And if I have my way, you never will. I'm Dutchy, and nobody calls either of them Mathew or John. This little jerk's name is Mush, and the one that looks like he's about to jump out of his skin is Skittery. As you can see he was aptly named" This was true, as John/Skittery had started biting his nails, but stopped when Dutchy spoke, then whacked the taller boy upside the head. Dutchy glared and whacked him back

"Okay, lets get on with your tour before they kill each other." Jack said, then walked around Skittery and Dutchy and Skittery pounced on the blond and toppled him over. Race hobbled his way around them and followed Jack into the other room while Mush held his head in his hand and sighed.

The first room he was shown was in fact the dining room, which was connected to the kitchen, which led back out into the commons, where Dutchy and Skittery were still fighting while Mush tried to pull them apart, after that Jack led him over to the door on the back wall. He stopped for a second and pulled out his keyring, and put the black ring into the door handle and unlocked it.

"Black keys for the dorm room, Silver's for the home itself, and the white one is for your room." He said as he opened the door. They walked into a hallway with doors on the wall they were facing, labeled **1a, 1b, 1c** and so on. The ceiling was lower in this area than in the rest of the home. Jack walked over to the one door that had no label on it, opened it, and found that it led to a staircase. They went up, and came out into another hallway almost exactly the same as the one below it. The only difference being that the doors were labeled with a 2 instead of a 1. They walked over to the door that read **2c**.

"Well this is your room, and where I leave you, bathrooms are at the end of the hallway on the ground floor, If you need anything, I'll be down in the commons." Jack said, before ruffling Race's hair, an action that made his glare, and heading back downstairs. He took his keys out of his pocket, and found the white one, which was labeled with his room number, and put it into the door handle, turned it, and opened the door.

The room was small, with two desks against the far wall, the two sides of the room were virtually identical in design, each with a twin sized bed closer to the door, and an armoire between the bed and the farther wall. The big difference between the sides of the room was that the left side had posters on the wall, clothes on the floor, and the desk was covered in papers. There was also a boy sitting on the bed. His eyes were closed, his back leaned against the wall, and he had headphones in his ears. He was skinny, and not particularly tall, but taller than Racetrack. He had slightly feminine features, with high cheekbones and nice lips. His hair was blond and pushed back, kinda like how Jack's had been, but it was slightly shorter. Racetrack cleared his throat as he walked into the room, and the boy opened his eyes, which were a startlingly blue color. He observed Racetrack for a second, taking him in, before saying

"Who the fuck are you?"

**A/N:**

**WE FINALLY MET SPOT (Kinda)****Also, sorry this chapter took me so long to write, I ended up making a whole plan for the next 5 chapters, and I kept on deleting what I had already written an rewriting it. Anyway, sorry that this one kinda sucks, I promise it will get better, and we'll get some Sprace soon! (You guys help me decide, do you want some sexy times sooner or later?) Anyway, thank you muchly for reading, and I promise I'll write more soon!**


	4. Does Anyone Have A Normal Name Anymore?

**A/N: So I decided to listen to the entirety of the both Newsies soundtracks (Movie and Musical) and DAMN it is GLORIOUS! As a side note may I mention that I am supremely pissed that the replaced Denton in the musical because they didn't get why an ace war correspondent would want to hang out with a bunch of pubescent teens. MAYBE BECAUSE HE BELIEVES IN THEIR CAUSE?! I'm okay with Sarah not being in the musical, she pissed me off, no clue why. Anyway, my mini rant is done, ON WITH THE STORY.**

He observed Racetrack for a second, taking him in, before saying

"Who the fuck are you?"

Race stared for what felt like a full 10 seconds before the boy raised his eyebrows and he replied.

"I'd have it a guess at your new roommate, I'm Tony. And who the fuck are you?" He smirked a little at the irritated look on the taller boy's face, and walking forward proudly, before noticing that it was difficult to appear impressive while you're on crutches and that the boy's expression had changed to slight bemusement.

"My names Sean. Now piss off." And Sean put his headphones back in, and leaned back against the wall. Race opened his mouth as if to say something, but Sean raised an eyebrow and he closed it again, confused out of his mind, and feeling like a dumb-ass. He made his way over to the bed that he supposed would be his, and sat down on it. It wasn't very comfortable, but no worse than his old bed, and it squeaked as he sat. He tapped his good foot against the ground uncomfortably, the silence seeming to stretch around the room and smother him. He glanced back up at Sean to see him openly staring at him, and unreadable expression on his face.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer." he said, cocking his head to the side slightly.

"You're a little guy, aren't you?" Sean stated, looking at him like he could see right through him, the smirk playing on his lips. "What are you, five feet tall? Five foot one?"

"I'm five three, and you can fuck off, you're not that tall either."

"Taller than you shorty." The skinny boy was openly smiling now, as if he found Race's lack of hight to be hilarious, Racetrack glared and opened his mouth to respond, when he heard a knock on the door. He grabbed his crutches and started towards the door.

"Wow, those really aren't helping your hight problem." Spot commented as he grabbed the door handle. It was Riley, who was holding his duffle bag and had his backpack on. The older man walked into the room and put both bags onto the bed. He clasped his hands together then looked over at Racetrack.

"Okay, that should be everything you need, but if there's something you forgot or something, then just call me okay?"

"Yeah, I got it."

"I'll be back to pick you up in a week."

"Okay" Race nodded at Riley, who stood there for a second, then held out his hand awkwardly. Race took pity on him and shook his hand, then watched with a slight smile as Riley walked out the door. The guy had warmed to him a little bit. The smiled wained when he remembered that Sean was still in the room. He was still watching him like a hawk, which was getting a little unnerving.

"Seriously, what is up with the staring thing?"

"I'm a people watcher." Sean shrugged

"It's creepy."

"Do I look like I care?"

"You look like a women." Race noted. It wasn't really true, Sean had feminine features, but they suited him, and didn't make him actually look like he was a girl. To be honest it was actually kinda hot, but Race shook that thought away, this guy had way to many assholish qualities to be someone he could ever be attracted to.

"Yeah? Well _you_ look like a 12 year old." Sean snapped, apparently taking offense to his previous comment. Race bristled, he hated people who thought that his hight and young features were a fun thing to comment on.

"I'm 17 dickweed, and you don't look much older."

"At least I look like I've hit puberty." Race gaped, this guy would just not let up, but it was kinda fun to have someone to talk to so he could make sure that his sarcasm wasn't getting rusty.

"You are _such_ a dick."

"I know." That goddamn smile played on Sean's lips again, Race wasn't sure if he should laugh or punch the dude, as it would be a pain in the ass to hobble over to where Sean was sitting, he decided on the former option. Sean laughed a little, a real laugh, it was a pleasant sound, one that made Race want to say something funny so he could hear it again, but he needed to get all his shit in place by the end of the day, and he knew that if he didn't do it now he would never get it done, so he sighed and turned to his bag, before emptying it onto the bed, opening up the armoire and getting to work.

* * *

45 minutes later, he found himself laying on his bed, bored out of his mind. Sean appeared to have fallen asleep, or at least was good at faking, and he felt like he was about to jump out of his skin. He was one of those people who always had to be doing something with his hands. Normally that was holding a hand of cards or a lit cigar, but he had a feeling that this place wouldn't approve cigar smoking. He swung his keys in circles with his finger, then decided that he might as well see if anyone around here was worth talking too. He stood up and glanced at Sean, who still appeared to be sleeping, then exited the room and attempted to get down the stairs on crutches.

As it turns out, going down stairs on crutches is a lot harder than going up, and requires more balance and skill than a clumsy Italian with two left feet had, and he nearly fell face first more than 5 times while going down. When he got to the bottom he smiled triumphantly, and went into the commons.

He had figured that there might be a few guys hanging around in the room, but he had not expected what he saw. About fifteen teenage guys were in the room, most of them huddled around the table, while 5 of them were sitting. He recognized two of the sitting boys as Jack, and Dutchy while Mush and Skittery stood behind them. The other sitting boys included a hispanic fellow with messy brown curls, a very young looking black boy, and a white boy with curly brown hair and glasses. Everyone was talking at the same time, and nobody had noticed him come in. He moved towards the table and ended up standing between Mush and a tall kid, and watched as Jack dealt the cards. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Race, then grinned.

"I see ya survived Spot, we're playin poker, you ever played?" Race smirked, asking if he had ever played poker was like asking a fangirl if she had ever heard of her OTP.

"Once or twice." He responded, slightly louder than he would normally have spoken due to the din of the place. Jack nodded, then pushed back his chair, stood up and raised his voice.

"Hey fellas listen up!" he said with authority, then, when it had gotten slightly quieter,

"This here is Tony, he just got here today, and he's rooming with Spot, so I figure he's got enough on his plate already, go easy on him okay." Jack smiled as he spoke, and a few of the boys laughed, but Race wasn't sure if he was kidding or not, and was momentarily confused by Jack calling Sean Spot, but shook it off. Jack turned to address him "Anyway, seeing as you're the new guy, do you wanna play, promise we'll go easy on ya. It's five card draw."

"Sure, whats the ante?" Race asked, thinking of what Blink would do if he could hear what Jack had just said.

"A dime" Jack responded, and pulled up another chair directly beside him.

"That all?" Race asked, and fished a dime out of his pocket, and threw it in the pot before taking out some more change and putting it on the table.

"Hey, I'm poor enough as is, can't go bettin all my money away" Jack replied, and started to deal Race in.

"So you loose a lot, huh?" Race smirked, and Dutchy, who had apparently been listening in laughed.

"Yeah, he sucks."

"I do not!" Jack glared at Dutchy indignantly and picked up his cards, then glanced at Race and said

"Oh, yeah, you don't know people yet." He glanced back down at his cards and made a strange expression, then added distractedly to the other boys at the table. "Introduce yourselves" The teens glanced around at each other, then the black boy shrugged and said,

"I'm Boots, don't ask why, long story." Dutchy smirked, then wiggled his eyebrows and stage whispered to Race

"He's got a strange fetish" Boots looked offended

"Okay, that's just plain _untrue_ Dutch, and a disturbing look into your mind."

"It's totally true" The brown haired boy with glasses stated offhandedly, then added. "Oh yeah, I'm Specs, and if you can't figure that one out I fear for humanity." and touched his glasses.

"And that's Itey, no idea why we call him that, don't even think its a word." Dutchy mused.

"Well Iteya is a town in Ethiopia." 'Itey' commented.

"Why do you even _know_ that?!" Dutchy questioned, eyebrows raised.

"I read it somewhere." Itey shrugged

"Itey, my friend, you need to get out more." Dutchy stated.

"And do what exactly?"

"I dunno, things that people do!"

"What _do _people do Dutchy?" Boots asked

"People stuff." Dutchy responded definitively, nodding at his own answer.

"What kind of people st-"

"Okay, lets start playing before we make Dutch question the meaning of life and start writing poetry again." Jack interrupted, there was a short silence, then he continued, "Nobody want's Dutchy to start reading his poetry again right?" he questioned. It was agreed that Dutchy's poetry reading had been about the worst thing in the history of the universe, Dutchy glared at everyone for a minute, and the round began.

Race easily slid into the game that he had been playing for most of his life, and looked down at his cards. he had a pretty good hand, nothing great, two jacks, two eights, and a king. He looked up at the other players, he didn't know their betting patterns yet, so it was best for him to read their physical tells. Itey had moved his hands closer to himself, and was tapping his right index finger on the table. The tapping could mean he was either excited or nervous, but he had moved back towards himself, which would suggest a weak hand. Never the less, he called. Dutchy was sitting back, but didn't look uninterested, which could go either way. He raised the bet a nickel. Specs was smiling easily, but also was messing around with his cards, which contradicted himself, he called. Boots cracked his knuckles and raised another nickel, but bit his lip slightly at the same time, which looked like it would be a nervous tic. Race called, and threw a dime into the pot. Jack sighed and folded. Itey stared at the pot, then back at his cards, and called. Dutchy raised yet again, throwing a nickel into the pot. Boots folded, and Specs called and pulled at his ear. Race called, ending the betting.

Race discarded his eights and his king, hoping for the best, and watched as Itey discarded 2 cards while Dutchy only did 1. Specs took a minute, carefully considering his options, before getting rid of 3 cards. Jack dealt them replacements, and the round began again. As it turned out, It was worth discarding his second pair, as he picked up another jack and two two's. A full house. Itey called, seeming more comfortable with his new hand. Dutchy raised again, which led race to suspect that he had a pretty damn good hand. Specs folded unhappily, and Race raised, putting a dime in the growing pot. Itey stared at his cards, glanced at Dutchy then Race, and called, adding his money to the pot. They showed their cards. As it turned out, Dutchy had bluffed quite well, he only had a three of a kind, while Itey had a flush, which wasn't half bad. All the same, Race's full house beat them, and he took the pot with a smirk.

As the game progressed, Race did pretty well. Jack truly did suck, with obvious tells and really terrible bluffing. Dutchy was pretty good, and he won quite a few rounds. Itey was okay, if a little nervous, and he won once or twice. Boots was about as good as Itey, and Specs was good, but overly cautious. Bit in the end, Race ended up on top.

* * *

"Once or twice my ass!" Jack said to Race an hour and most of his betting money later.

"Must be beginners luck." Race shrugged innocently.

"I like him, he kept Dutchy from getting all my money." Itey commented

"You still lost all your money in the end." Dutchy pointed out.

"Not _all_ of it."

"Okay then, _most_ of your money." Itey wrinkled up his nose and glared as Dutchy pocketed the change in front of him on the table.

"I feel your pain" Jack patted Itey's shoulder

"How did you even manage to loose that much Jack? We're playing with spare change!" Specs laughed as Jack whacked him upside the head.

"It takes skill if you ask me." Boots nodded, and Jack whacked him to.

"Why do I even play with you guys?" He questioned.

"No clue Jacky, you suck." Dutchy said, and Jack pouted.

"What is it, national make fun of Jack day?"

"You do it to yourself." Mush, who was one of the few people who was still standing around the table, said. He then looked at Race and commented, "Well, if you're gonna hang out with us, you got to have a stupid nickname to." The boys nodded, looking at him.

"Well you look Italian, so we'd call you Itey, but this Mexican fucker already got that." Dutchy said, and ruffled Itey's hair.

"He could be Poker face?" Specs questioned.

"No, no, no, Specs thats actually horrible." Jack shook his head, then looked at Race curiously. Race, not wanting to risk a terrible nickname, commented on it.

"Well, my friends call me Racetrack."

"Why, do you have a thing for Nascar?" Itey asked, interested.

"Nah, I spend half my life at the Sheepshead, betting on horses and playing cards." He smirked as he said the last bit, and Jack raised his eyebrows.

"So _not_ beginners luck then _Racetrack_"

"Nope, years of practice, you really do suck Jack." Dutchy laughed.

"Yep, he fits right in, teasing Jackass and everything, I like him." He then stood up and held out his arm, then mimed knighting him. "Henceforth you shall be known as Racetrack." Race laughed at the pure idiocy, and internally glowed at the concept of having friends like these guys.

They slipped back into easy banter as the afternoon progressed into early evening. Race nodded at Sean as he came downstairs about a half an hour later and pulled up a chair beside Dutchy. As the sun got a little lower in the sky, Race headed outside for a smoke. He leaned against the wall, leaning his crutches against the wall, and lighting a cigarette. He preferred a good cigar, but had left his last one back at the house, and he was pretty sure that Riley wouldn't drive him back just to get a cigar. He took a long drag, and exhaled through his nose, closing his eyes and leaning back, letting a soft breeze blow on his face, and just listening to the sound of the city. He stood there for a while, finished his cigarette and reached for another when he heard a shout.

"Hey! Hey Tony, you little asswipe!" He looked over at the sound of his name, and took in the large man walking towards him. It was his father's older brother, Race's uncle Giordano.

**A/N: Thanks so much for reading! Sorry if any of the characters were OOC, I tried my best. If you think that anything should be ****happening**** differently leave a review (please review!) and I will adjust as need be. I promise that the SpRace ****relationshipness is coming up soon, I just had to get everything set up. Let me just say, that next chapter involves a pimp cane. Oh, and I can't decide if smexy times should happen sooner or later, so you guys get to decide.**

**Thanks for reading! -Zoi**


	5. Uncle Gio Takes a Hit With a Pimp Cane

_**A/N: Hi **__**there**__**, I just wanted to say thanks to everyone that has kept on reading up to here! You get to learn about some of the guy's childhoods in this chapter. Also, This chapter was supposed to be called "Uncle Gio Takes a Hit To The Dick With a Pimp Cane" but apparently thats to long soooooooo.**_

_"__Hey! Hey Tony, you little asswipe!" Race looked over at the sound of his name, and took in the large man walking towards him. It was his father's older brother, Race's uncle Giordano. _

Race's eyes widened in surprise as his uncle Gio progressed towards him. It had only been two days sense his father had been sent to jail. He had figured that his uncles might come after him, but he had thought it would have been at least a little bit later on. His leg was still in a cast, he couldn't walk properly - let alone fight. Never the less, he grabbed one of his crutches from where they were leaning on the wall, and held tightly, so he could bang it over Gio's head if need be, but leaned on it, to make it seem like he was only using it for support.

"I heard about what happened with Gennero you piece of shit, calling the cops on your own father like a little pussy!" Race stared, Gio obviously hadn't spoken to his father yet, and he must have only heard from word of mouth, which Race figured was okay, because at least he didn't know Race was gay. Then again, it also seemed like Race had turned his father in himself, which wasn't even kind of what happened.

"What the fuck are you talking about Gio, I didn't do anything! The fucker did it to himsel-" Gio smacked him over his head.

"You ungrateful, useless idiot, don't you _ever _speak ill of your father. You think that you can play the little victim just because he slapped you around a little? Huh?"

"He broke my fucking leg! How in fuck is that 'slapping me around a little?' And if you would let me finish a freaking sentence, you would know that I wasn't the one that called the fucking cops." Gio opened his mouth again, but Race kept on talking, "Some yuppie walking through the neighborhood did it, my dear poppy was shouting just a little to loud as he beat the living shit outta me." Giordano glared, moving closer to Race so that he was towering over him, but Race didn't break eye contact, even as his neck strained against this new angle.

"You lying piece of crap" Gio started in a low, dangerous voice. "Even if that is true, the dickhead probably only heard because you were screaming like the bitch that you are. You were always a tiny little know it all brat, thinking you were better than everyone, speaking down to us when you barely came up to our knees, you deserved a good beating, to knock some sense into your thick head. You are _nothing-_" Gio shoved him against the wall, and Race tightened his hand on the crutch, "-but an insolent waste of space, Gennero should have thrown you out on the street the minute that that whore you called a mother finally bit the dust." Race was all but seeing red, _nobody_ got to speak about his mother that way.

"Don't you _dare_ talk about my mother. She wasn't a fucking whore, she was loyal to my shithead father until the day she died, and she was twice the person _you_ will ever be." He spat at his uncle, who looked livid.

"SHE WAS A FUCKING COCKSU-" Suddenly everything seemed to happen at once. Gio had shoved Race against the wall, Race had gotten ready to swing with his crutch, but before he cot the chance, Gio was shoved off of him, as Race's eyes tried to process what was happening, the boy - was that Sean? - took a cane of sorts, and nailed Gio between the legs. Gio's roar of anger turned into a surprisingly high-pitched scream of pain as he toppled backwards, hands rushing between his legs. Race stared at Sean, who was standing in front of Gio, panting slightly and holding what appeared to be a pimp cane.

"If you think beating up a kid on crutches makes you tough, then your a dumbass, It just means your too scared to take on someone who might beat you, now fuck off douchebag." Sean stated to Gio, then turned to face Racetrack.

"You okay?"

"Is that a fucking pimp cane?"

"Yeah, your okay."

"What is this, 1902?"

"Let's go inside."

"No, seriously, is that a pimp cane?"

"Yeah yeah, come on Tony." And Sean grabbed his other crutch, handed it to him, and started inside, leaving Race with no choice but to follow.

"Why do you have a pimp cane?"

"God, are you ever going to shut up about it, and I dunno, say thanks?"

"For what?"

"For _helping_ you." They stopped walking, and Race sat down by the table.

"I was handling it."

"Oh, so making the big scary guy angry is handling it now? Wow, everything I know is a lie!"

"I would have been fine on my own, I'm not a fucking damsel in distress." Race crossed his arms, looking remarkably like a pouting child. Sean sighed,

"Just say thanks, Tony." Race glared up for a second, then looked down and said,

"Thanks..." in a resigned tone, after a moment of silence he added,

"So you have a pimp cane?"

"Oh my fucking _god._ Yes, yes it was a fucking pimp cane, and I'm not gonna try to explain why I have it, so get the fuck over it." Race smiled then looked up and around the room.

"Where IS everyone?"

"Dinner's about to start, that's why I went out to getcha, we gotta be in there in like two minutes." he pointed towards the dining room.

"Great! I'm starving." Race hopped down off his chair, grabbed his crutches and headed towards the food.

The dining room had two long tables, each holding about 15 or so boys. Race ended up sitting between Sean and Jack, who greeted him happily with a slap on the back, and he quickly joined into the conversation, which was about whether or not a giant spider could take over the world. He had met most of these guys a little bit earlier, but couldn't keep half their names straight to save his life, so he stuck with the little group he had played poker with earlier, who seemed to be friendly with Sean, so he fit in pretty well. About five minutes after he sat down, Mr. Kloppman walked in and took attendance, then called a few boys over to serve the food for the day.

Jack informed him that Mr. Wiesel was the actual cook, but he hated the kids and his food was terrible, so they didn't trust him with their dinner, and would normally offer to make it themselves. A few in their number could make some pretty good meals, but more often than not, they would order pizza or Chinese and just eat on the state's dime. Sure enough, a few minutes later the boys walked back in, one of them holding six pizzas, another holding a large bowl of chicken wings, and the last two with a two liter in each hand. Race smiled as the food was placed on the tables, and a second later the boys were digging in. They ate and talked until their stomachs were full and the conversation was all but dead.

"So, Spotty, how's having a roommate again? Gonna try to scare the living shit outta Racetrack here to get him to move like the last guy?" Sean smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

"Depends on whether or not he pisses me off, the last one was a pantywaste, Tony isn't so bad so far."

"He's Racetrack now, we bonded over Jack sucking at poker. He's pretty damn good." Dutchy told Sean with a grin.

"Oh really?" Sean looked over at Race, "I might have to play you, ya know, show you who's boss." The blonde boy grinned at him.

"Nah, Sean, I think I'd kick your skinny ass halfway to Harlem." Sean's smile grew wider.

"We'll see." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and Race let out a little laugh before addressing the rest of the group.

"So why does everyone have a nickname?" They looked at each other, as if questioning it themselves, before Mush answered.

"I dunno really, It just kinda happened. Jack has this thing about Santa Fe, and he wore a stupid cowboy hat for a month straight when he got here-"

"I love that hat!"

"I know you do hon, and I'm Mush because they think I'm a 'Mushy Romantic',"

"You _so_ are."

"Shut _up _Dutch, Dutchy just won't tell us his real name, so that one's easy, no idea why Itey is Itey. And Spot here-"

"You tell him I rip your nuts off and make you eat spaghetti and mystery meat meatballs." Sean (Spot?) interrupted, and stared right at Much who blanched a little.

"You wouldn't..."

"Do you really wanna take that chance?" Mush stared at him as if trying to figure out whether or not Spot was being serious, before Jack interrupted.  
"I knew him when he was little, and-"

"Jack Kelly I swear to god-"

"I was six and he was five, and he used to follow-"

"I will stab you in the face-"

"me around like a puppy, so I-"

"_repeatedly._"

"gave him a puppy's name." As Jack finished his comment, Spot got up out of his chair and tackled Jack onto the ground, Jack laughed as they wrestled, and Spot glared at him. Race was cracking up with the rest of the table.

"Oh my god, that's adorable, is that true?" Spot looked up at him momentarily, and Jack took the chance to get the upper hand.

"I was _five_, and I didn't fucking follow him." The blond said as he struggled to regain his position.

"He _so _did though, he was a cute little kid." Jack managed to get out between laughs.

"Gahhhhhhhh" Spot made a strange sound as he managed to get Jack down on his stomach, and sat on him.

"Some day, Jacky-boy, I will murder you in your sleep." Jack smiled and rolled spot off of him before standing up.

"Whatever you say _Spotty_." And then he ran out of the room before Spot could tackle him again, leaving Race and the others in fits of laughter while Spot fumed off to the side.

Later that night, when they were required to be in their rooms, Spot and Race were laying in their respective beds, when Spot posed a question that Race had known was coming since the taller boy had gone to get him for dinner.

"So who was that guy?" Race sighed and hoped that Spot wouldn't be like most people when they learned about his family dynamic. He hated the pity.

"My uncle" Spot nodded, he had seen the slight family resemblance.

"What was he so pissed about"

"He thought I turned my dad in, got him arrested." Spot stayed silent for a minute or so before asking.

"Did you?" Race sat up and looked at Spot.

"No. No a fucking didn't." Spot looked slightly surprised at his reaction.

"I was just wondering."

"I'm no goddamn rat."

"Okay, I got it." And they sunk into silence, before Spot broke it again.

"What did he do." Race looked over at him.

"Huh?"

"To end up in jail. Your dad, what did he do."

"Well he _did_ a lot of things, but he didn't get caught on any of the important stuff. If he could have just kept his anger in check he'd never have been caught." Spot sat up and leaned against the wall.

"But what did he get caught for?" Race internally glared at Spot, he had thought that he had managed to evade the question nicely.

"Smacking me around." He eventually replied, and was shocked at Spot's reaction. It wasn't pity, or horror, or resignation like most people. He just nodded, and stared at Race the same way he had when they had first met, which Race realized with surprise had only been that morning.

"I thought so"

"You did, did ya?"

"Yeah, you reminded me of me." And it was silent again, Race staring at Spot, who stared right back, he slowly leaned back against the wall, foregoing his defensive position.

"You know how to take care of yourself, and you don't like it when others try to help you, you hate it when people pity you, so you show them that you don't need to be pitied. Yeah, I get all of that." Race nodded back at him, some sort of bond forming between them. They shared a mindset fostered from abusive childhoods, they could kinda get each other.

"Most of us here are like that, nobody's had a very good time of it. Mush's mom left him at a firehouse when he was 5, never came back, Dutchy won't tell us what happened to his parents, but we know it was bad and he blames himself, and Skittery has a reason for being so on edge all the time. We all have our pasts, Tony." Unlike this morning, the silence didn't seem to strangle him, it was comfortable, it said things that they couldn't say with words.

"Is your dad in jail too then?" Race asked, curiosity bubbling inside of him.

"Nah, he split when I was little. My mom's in a nuthouse though. She used to go on benders, leave me alone for weeks when I was in elementary school, then she would come home and act like nothing had happened, she'd bring presents and food and shit, and then all the next day she would attack me with a steak knife over her dinner being too cold. Fucking crazy, think they said she was severely bi-polar or something, that she could get better, but I just think she's fucked in the head." He said the last part bitterly, and Race nodded, if someone told him that his dad was crazy, he'd believe them, but if they said that he could get better, he'd laugh in their face. Some things just can't be fixed. He hoped to god that he wasn't one of them.

**A/N: Okay, I know that I've used like five chapters for the first two days, but so much was ****happening****, so I hope that you can forgive me. Anyway, I promise that it will be faster paced ****after this, and there may even be some Blush coming up. So stay tuned (That is totally the wrong Idiom...) and REVIEWWWWWW (please?)**


	6. Homos Rule the World (Secretly)

**A/N: Hiya guys, you ready for some smutty stuff? Cuz I think that I'm ready by now, but I needed to build some character first! Anywho, I would have updated a bit sooner, but I was starting to go slightly insane via fanfiction, so I took a couple days off, and then I had to get my permit and start learning to drive and all that shit, but besides the point, no more excuses. I have plotline finished for another 6 chapters, and I think you guys will like it. thanks so much to everyone who read this story, and a special thanks to FurySaidtoaMouse and Always-SpRace for commenting. **

**FYI TO ALL READERS! This story has been changed from being rated T to being rated M, if you are uncomfortable with reading sexual situations, DO NOT READ THIS!**

**ON WITH THE PLOT!**

* * *

Race lay back on his bed, throwing a tennis ball up in the air and catching it, whilst silently dreading the unfortunate fact that school was going to start in a mere two weeks. Spot was sitting at his desk, with a book open and a pen in his hand. A second later, the book was being thrown across the room, landing in a corner by the armoire, and the pen was being slammed onto the desk. Race glanced up at his roommate.

"They kill off your favorite character or something?" The smaller boy questioned.

"Nah, it's not a novel, I gotta read and annotate some shitty book called _How To Read Literature Like A Professor,_ and it's just crap. It's all about symbolism and that shit, completely pointless." Race furrowed his brow for a second,

"Wait, you go to Evanston Township right?"

"Yeah"

"I don't gotta annotate anything, just read a book, and I can just read the wikipedia page for the plot or something, you sure you're doing the right work?" Race asked, frowning slightly and sitting up.

"I'm in one of the AP classes, we get more stuff." Race looked at him strangely for a second.

"_You're_ in AP English?"

"Yeah, English is easy, all we do is write papers, you just gotta know how to bullshit some symbolism."

"Maybe easy for you, some of us can't pull papers out of our asses." Race huffed and laid back, then added. "I don't have to annotate a shitty book." And then he rolled over when Spot threw a pen at his head, he grabbed the pen, and threw it back. "At least it's our last year, no more stupid ass public education after I get my diploma, just work, and you actually get _paid_ for that." Spot looked over at him and shook his head.

"Maybe it's _your_ last year, but I still got two left."

"Your a junior?"

"Yep."

"I thought you said you were seventeen." Race tilted his head to the side a little.

"I _am_ seventeen."

"So what, your smart enough for AP classes, but you failed a year of school or something."

"Nah, just turned seventeen like three weeks ago, and I didn't start preschool till I was six instead of five, my mom was on oxy and she forgot how old I was or some shit."

"So I'm like three months older than you then." Race commented.  
"And yet you still manage to look about thirteen years younger, I applaud you." Spot smirked and mock clapped.

"Hey, I do _not_ look four, I'm at _least_ eight, and more likely twelve. And I only have one year of high school left, so I'd watch what I said if I were you, respecting your elders and all that crap." Race smiled in victory before Spot threw a pen at his head again, and he reached for the tennis ball he had been messing with earlier, throwing it in Spot's direction, before Spot threw the first thing he could get his hands on back at Race, and they quickly dissolved into throwing random shit at each other, some of which Race was surprised to find was even in the room, he had no clue where Spot had managed to find that rubber chicken.

* * *

When Race came down the stairs on his crutches for lunch, he saw Dutchy and Skittery crouched behind a the couch where Mush and Itey sat innocently watching a rerun of Law and Order SVU. Fearing the worst, as two days ago he had come downstairs only to walk into an all out nerf gun battle, he carefully hobbled into the kitchen without being noticed.

As he put together his salami sandwich on wonder-bread, he heard some war cry like shouts, and then an angry yell from the other room. When he walked back over to the commons, holding his sandwich in his mouth, he found Dutchy and Skittery pelting an unhappy looking Itey with spit balls, while an angry Mush calmly walked over to the corner of the room, grabbed a nerf gun that Race hadn't noticed before, and proceeded to shoot both Skittery and Dutchy in the head with darts, while shouting something along the lines of,

"REVENGE, BITCHES!" It was a surprising show of violence from someone who was usually so calm, but nobody seemed very surprised, so Race figured that Mush must have a darker side to him. He sat down at one of the tables and started eating his sandwich, as nerf darts and spit balls flew around him.

A second later, the door opened, revealing a quite sleepy Jack, who nodded at Race, dodged a dart, and walked into the kitchen. When Jack returned, holding a sandwich of his own, he sat next to Race and took a large bite, slowly chewing, before getting hit in the head with a spit ball, and giving Dutchy the evil eye. Jack wasn't exactly a scary guy, but something told Race that he didn't like being messed with when he was tired, and Dutchy seemed to get that as well, as he cringed back slightly and put his hands up in the air.

"I hate mornings." Jack said around a yawn, taking another bite out of his sandwich.

"It's a half hour past noon." Race replied, and Jack checked the clock on the wall.

"And so it is, well, I guess I hate afternoons too." Race nodded.

"You sound like my friend David, he's super punctual and stuff, but if you wake him up before 11:00 on a weekend, he'll get his revenge in a creative and disturbing way." He told Jack, before taking another bite out of his sandwich, before glancing around the room and noticing that Mush had ran out of darts, and was picking them up off the floor, Dutchy and Skittery had left the room, probably to get food, and Itey was picking spit balls out of his hair. "That was nowhere near as long as last time." He commented on the battle, and Jack nodded.

"It varies by the day," He shrugged "So you got anything going on Tony?"

"I get this piece of shit off, Race gestured at his leg, which was still encased in a bulky blue cast. "And I gotta go to work." He added dully, not looking forward to his shitty job at Costco.

"Ouch, well make sure to tell Kloppman if you gotta stay out past dinner." Jack picked up a dart that was under the table and handed it to Mush, who nodded his thanks.

"Nah, I get off at 6 on Tuesdays, should be back on time." Race mentioned, taking a final bite of his sandwich and leaning back in his chair, his eyes wondering over to the TV, where the episode of SVU seemed to be winding down, as a lady cop arrested a pedophile.

They sat there in a comfortably sleepy silence until the episode ended, and Itey went to make lunch, then Race went outside for a smoke. He leaned his back against the wall, feeling at piece. Even if everything in his life was falling apart and he was _sure_ his uncles weren't done with him and to top it all off he had a broken leg, he was fairly content with his life right now. He didn't have to worry about the little things that he might fuck up and set his father off, it was summer, and he was gonna damn well enjoy what he got.

He finished his cigarette and was about to head back inside when he saw Riley's car pull up, and he waved him down. As Race clambered into the car, Riley wrinkled his nose a little.

"You know smoking will give you cancer."

"We all die someday." Race shrugged.

"Thats a... Disturbing viewpoint." Riley responded uneasily.

"It's also true."

"And on that note, let's go get that cast off, see if you can live a little before you reach your inevitable doom." Riley smiled at Race, who's mouth twitched a little. He was definitely warming up to the older man. As they drove Riley tapped his thumbs on the steering wheel, keeping his hands at exactly 10 and 2, while Race stared off into space, wondering if Crutchy was still at the hospital, and if he would get to see him.

* * *

As it turned out, getting a cast off didn't take to long at all, it had freaked him out slightly when the man had come towards him with a small circular saw, but he had calmed down when he was told that this strange saw somehow cut through plaster and cast, but wouldn't even scratch him.

As the mystical device made it's way through the plaster prison that Race had grown to hate over the last week, it tickled his leg slightly, and felt really fucking weird, but not at all painful. When it was off, he looked at his leg, and frowned at it. In it's small time stuck in a cast, it had become wrinkly, and paler then the rest of him, in contrast to his olive skin tone. He shook it slightly, and wiggled his toes, before scratching an itch that he had had for the last three days. He was starting to stand up when Dr. Johnson turned around and looked at him

"No no no no no!" He walked forward and pushed Race back into the chair, "No normal walking yet, you have another three weeks with a brace before you come back in and we see if your okay to walk." Race glared at the doctor, then the leg brace in the man's hands, and then back at the doctor, who smiled sympathetically, and gestured for Race to stick his leg out. Race did so, and Dr. Johnson showed him how to take on and off the brace, and how walking would be different, but that he wouldn't have to use the crutches unless he was in an unusual amount of pain.

Race happily pushed the 'devil sticks' away from him and stood up, he was a little bit off center with the brace, but he could walk like a normal person again, and that was nice. He hadn't even gotten a chance to ask if Crutchy had been there, much less seen the boy, and he lamented that fact momentarily, before getting back into Riley's car, and telling the social worker that he needed to go to work, instead of heading back to the group home.

* * *

When he showed up at the shitty Costco where he worked, he was lucky that only a couple of his coworkers asked him about his leg, and he brushed their curiosity off smoothly, telling them that he had tripped down the stairs and ended up cracking his leg on the bottom step, adding subtle details so they wouldn't suspect his lie. The majority of his other injuries had faded to something that could be believably obtained from a bad fall, and Race was already known to be rather clumsy, so it wasn't much of a stretch. An embarrassing cover story, but better than the whole world knowing that Race's dad got his kicks knocking him around.

He got to work, working a check out lane for a couple hours, then bagging groceries for another two, and when he only had an hour left, he took a short smoke break and called David from the work phone to ask him to give Race a ride back to the group home. When his shift ended, and he took off the stupid smock that they made him wear and went around back to wait, he was unsurprised that when David pulled up, Blink was sitting shotgun. He got into the car, nodded at David, and turned to the blond boy.

"Heya Blinkie, whatcha doin here?" He feared that he already knew the answer, as Blink smiled a little to wide for his liking.

"Thought that we might stop by the group home with ya, meet all your new friends." Blink replied happily, ignoring Race's disgruntled look. He was sure that his friends would get along fine with the other boys, but he didn't really want to share Blink and David, It had just been the three of them for so long. Sure, David and the school newspaper staff, and Blink had ... well, Blink pretty much just had them, but that had always been separate, they had never all befriended the same people, because to be honest, they didn't really like other people. But nevertheless, David drove them to the group home, following Race's instructions on how to get there, and when they arrived, they all piled out, and Race led them in the door.

The commons were surprisingly empty for this time of night, since dinner was in another 15 minutes or so, and the boys normally came down and hung out before hand. Instead of the usual crowd, there were only a few boys, Mush, Jack, and Dutchy sat on the bigger of the two couches in front of the TV, and Spot and Itey sat on the other, all watching a drama on the TV, as he glanced at the screen, he saw a young redheaded girl scream and beat a drunk man over the head with what looked like a pillowcase full of butter while her family watched. He considered just sitting down and watching, interested in the show, but then remembered his friends behind him and took a step forward. Spot looked up first, nodding at Race and then tilting his head in confusion at the other two boys.

"You taking in strays, Higgins? This place is already overflowing with teenage guys, we don't need anymore." At Spot's words, the other's looked up, and took in Blink and David, who were standing awkwardly off to the side.

"Nope, not strays, they actually have homes. And families. But besides the point, this is Blink, and that's David, they wanted to check out this hellhole." Jack's eyes flashed in recognition from the name he had heard earlier in the day, and he addressed David.

"You're the one that hates mornings, and has creative revenge tactics. I like that." He stated, smiling at the curly haired Jewish fellow. David smiled a little and looked at Race.

"Have you been talking about us Tony?" He asked lightly.

"He won't shut up. Ever. I'm seriously considering smothering him with a pillow." Spot commented, and Blink smiled, easing into the situation.

"Yeah, he does have this annoying tendency to just keep on talking, but eventually you learn to ignore him." Race glared at Blink, who flicked his head.

"Great, so I'm not the only one who noticed that!" Mush exclaimed, and the rest of the boys all nodded their heads in confirmation.

"Wow. I hate you all." Race said irritatedly. Like you're one to talk Blink, won't shut up about the fucking Yankees, I swear I wanna take that signed baseball of yours and set it on fire sometimes." Blink stared at him, aghast, while Mush replied to Race's comment, sounding just as flabbergasted.

"You would burn a baseball that was signed by the Yankees? Are you fucking _insane_" His voice rose a little at the end of his sentence, and Blink smiled at the comment, then looked over at Mush, and his jaw dropped. Anything that he had planned on saying seemed to be lost, and he just stared at the mocha skinned boy like he had found a new god. Spot seemed to notice this change in demeanor, and raised his eyebrow, before glancing over at Racetrack, who refused to meet his gaze, not wanting to answer any of Spots questions.

"So where is everyone, anyway?" Race questioned.

"Skittery got one of those kiddie NASCAR tracks, and they're having a racing tournament." Itey, who had acknowledged Blink and David's presence before going back to the TV show, replied.

"Hey _Racetrack_ wanna place some bets on that?" Blink joked, clearly still not thinking straight, as that was one of the worst jokes Race had ever heard from him. And he had heard some pretty damn bad ones. He stared at Blink, unimpressed.

"You can do better than that Blinkie, I _know_ you can." And the boy had blushed, really _blushed_, then glanced over at Mush, who was smiling warmly back at him.

As the night progressed, David, Jack, Spot, and Race ended up having conversation as Blink and Mush talked off to the side. Well, Mush did most of the talking, Blink mostly said a few short comments and stuttered out some replies, but Mush seemed okay with that. They didn't end up having dinner (Which was buckets of fried chicken from KFC) until 7:00, instead of the usual 6:30, as the boys upstairs had talked Kloppman into racing with them. Blink and David ate with the boys, and didn't end up leaving until 10:00, when Kloppman herded the boys upstairs for the night.

* * *

As Race changed for bed, he could feel Spots gaze on him, which was slightly disconcerting, but he was used to it by now. Spot was a people watcher, and while in their bedroom, Race was the only 'people' to watch, so he got stared at a lot. He changed into a pair of boxers with little superhero's on them, and a baggy T-shirt with moth holes, and took off his leg brace, leaving it at the foot of his bed. He then sat on top of his mattress, before looking over at Spot, who was still openly watching him, but with a different expression than normal.

"So your friend, the one with the eyepatch, is a fairy then." He stated, his face hard to read.

"And what if he is?" Race asked defensively. Wondering where this was going.

"He was acting like a queer fucking women." Spot responded. "It was physically painful for me to watch, what with all the flaming going on." Race narrowed his eyes, he couldn't tell if Spot didn't like the fact that Blink was gay, or that he was open about it, but either way, nobody got to tease Blink except him and David.

"Stop being a fucking bigot, he's not a flamer, he just likes dick." He stood up, making himself seem bigger than he truly was. "And if that's a problem, you might want to find yourself a new roommate, cuz I'm as gay as they come." He said smoothly, surprising himself. He had never actually _told_ anybody but David and Blink about his sexuality, and the last person to find out had put him in the hospital, he could feel his hands shaking slightly, and he clenched them into fists. Spot stood up and took a few steps forward, so that he was looming over Racetrack, looked down at him, then said.

"Well I guess the world is just full of fags then." And then suddenly Spot was kissing him, and Race didn't know what to do with himself for a second, but fuck if Spot wasn't a _good_ kisser, so he responded. He grabbed the back of Spot's neck and pulled him closer, opening his mouth a little, and suddenly Spot's tongue was fighting with his for dominance, and he could _taste_ Spot, and he tasted like cigarettes and cinnamon, two flavors that went strangely well together, and Spot's hands were pulling him closer and Race was walking backwards and falling onto his bed, with Spot on top if him, grinding his hips down into Race's. At that moment, Race decided to throw his trepidations out the window, he could figure out _why_ this was happening later, but for now, he just wanted Spot to keep his hands on him, because his skin burned pleasantly under the taller boys touch.

Their tongues continued to fight for the upper hand as they both moaned quietly, and Race rolled them over, so that he was on top of Spot, kissing him deeply and trailing his finger's under the taller boy's shirt, while Spot worked Race's own tee up, they broke apart for a moment so that Race could tare off his shirt, and Spot took his chance to roll them back over, pulling off his Green Day tee before pushing Race down and sucking at Race's pulse point, biting slightly. His heart was beating out of his chest, and Spot must be able to feel it, or hear it, or _something_, because Spot was smirking at him like he knew all the worlds secrets, then he started to lick down Race's chest, to his stomach, as Race arched under his touch.

Spot grabbed at Race's boxers, and glanced in Race's direction for confirmation, Race nodded and lifted his hips, allowing the offending clothing to be pulled off his thighs, freeing his throbbing erection. And then suddenly Spot's head moved down a little farther, and _holy fucking shit _that boy could do things with his mouth. He sucked at the tip before going down a little farther, bobbing his head, and squeezing his hands around the base, where his mouth couldn't reach yet, and then, before Race could prepare himself, he was deep-throating Race's cock like a pro, humming slightly, and Race bit his lip to keep himself from moaning to loudly, while thrusting up a little into Spot's mouth.

Spot pulled of for a second, smirked at Race, his blue eyes dark with lust, before kissing the tip and slowly licking up the thick member like he couldn't get enough of it, and Race was swearing as loud as he would dare, before Spot went back to sucking and he was too far gone to talk. He made a few noises that he would have been ashamed of if he hadn't been so damn turned on, and moved his hands into Spot's hair as he approached his orgasm, moaning quietly, and then Race was coming, and Spot sucked him through it, swallowing everything, before pulling up, his face slightly flushed, and moving back up towards Racetrack.

Spot kissed him, and Race could taste himself on Spot's tongue, but found that he didn't mind the taste as long as it was accompanied by Spot's own signature flavor. Race felt Spot's cock against his leg, and he reached towards it, pulling down Spot's boxers and pulled at his cock. Spot let out a half moan, allowing Race to flip him onto his back as he jacked him off. Race spat onto his other hand a couple times, slicked up the younger boy's dick, before moving his hand up and down, faster then before, watching the young man in front of him lean his head back and arch off the bed, letting out these little whimpers that he _knew_ Spot would never make if he could help himself.

Spot looked down at Racetrack, straight into his eyes, and then he was coming like Race had earlier, making a mess off the sheets and letting out a low groan. Race laid himself down beside Spot, who sat up and wiped his cum up with his own boxers, then threw them across the room, a mess for another time, before rolling over and kissing the side of Race's head, then laying down on his stomach, with his face pointed towards Race, and his right arm splayed over his chest.

Race scooted towards Spot, snaking his arm under the skinny boy, and staring at his clear blue eyes. He leaned forward and kissed Spot softly, not knowing exactly what he was doing or why he was doing it, but not caring in the slightest. He laid on his back, pulled Spot closer to him, so that the blond's head was on his chest. He closed his eyes, smiling as he felt Spot's arms move around his waist, and slowly fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

**A/N: Okay, wow, this chapter is like twice the length of the last one, at least I think it is, and I hope you guys liked it, because I think it was one of my favorite ones so far. A note about the smut, It was only my second time writing anything like that, and the first time writing it with backstory, so constructive criticism is great, but go easy on me. REVIEW! PLEASE! JUST DO IT!**


	7. Gender Based Rooming Fails It's Purpose

**Hey! Look who finally got around to updating. Zoi, what took you so long? Well, I was staring at a computer screen binge watching Shameless Uk and working on this little ficlet. Anyway, this chapter takes place a few weeks after the last one, and the tempo of the story speeds up starting about now, ON WITH THE FIC.**

Antonio Higgins was in no way a virgin. He had had plenty of short relationships over his years, nothing really all that meaningful, it was hard to find someone who would be open about how they felt about you when you lived in a ghetto ass neighborhood, but they would still have sex with you, or maybe just want make out a little, and he had had one or two relationships with people who he had actually liked. But Spot was different. So when they had started fooling around, he hadn't been sure what to expect.

They were roommates, so it couldn't very well be a one time thing, seeing as they would see each other every day, especially with how fucking good everything had felt. But the morning after it had all started, Spot had gotten up before him, had already started working on his annotations. Nothing had changed really, they would banter like before, and they would hang out with the other guys, but occasionally, Spot would be on him like lightning. They hadn't actually gone all the way yet, it was mostly handjobs and the occasional sixty-niner, Spot always kissing him like his life depended on it. It never lasted as long as Race wished that it did, but cut them some slack, they were teenagers, and they fucked like it.

But they never talked about it.

And Race was pretty sure he was going insane.

* * *

It was a normal day, school sucked, and his pre-calc teacher decided that it would be a great idea to assign them approximately a shit ton of homework, so when he got back to the dorms, he grabbed a bag of chips he had been hoarding under his bed, and proceeded to stare at the ceiling and try to think of anything he had to do that didn't involve calculus.

After about 10 minutes of consideration, he found that he had absolutely nothing else that needed to get done, and started having a staring contest with his backpack instead, which was laying on the floor beside his bed. He sighed, and was about to grab it, when the door opened, and an annoyed looking Spot walked in. The skinny boy threw his own backpack into the corner of the room, and gave Race a long look, before walking straight up to him and climbing on top of him.

He didn't kiss Race though, he didn't do anything but straddle the shorter boy and lean down on his elbows so that he was nose to nose with him. And then Spot moved his head down just the slightest bit, so that his lips just barely brushed Race's. This was why Race hadn't yet demanded to know exactly _what the fuck_ was going on between them. Because when Spot's lips touched his, it was like fire had run through his spine, straight from his head to his toes, and his mind had seemed to go to mush. He was terrified that if he asked Spot what this meant, if he asked Spot if he could feel it too, then it would stop, and Spot wouldn't ever make him feel the lightning again.

But Spot still hadn't done anything else, he was still just staring down at Race with an expression that made him want to look away. Yet he didn't, he stared back, and then he pulled Spot downward, moving his own head up, and kissed the boy who made him feel like a crazy son of a bitch.

Once again, it was different. Spot kissed him back, kissed him in a way that was distinctly _Spot_, but it was lazier then usual, slower, less teeth and dominance and more lips and tongue. It felt like the type of kiss someone gave their boyfriend on a lazy afternoon. Not like the type of kiss you give to a fuck buddy who means nothing to you.

Yep. Spot was going to drive him crazy.

When they pulled apart, Spot still didn't try for anything more, and just rolled over and laid himself next to Racetrack, pulling him closer and tracing patterns onto his arm. He didn't say anything, just stared at him with that same look in his eye from earlier, and the little Italian couldn't fucking take it anymore.

"What are we?" Spot looked taken aback, his nose scrunching up in a way that Race would have called cute if he had wanted Spot to hit him.

"Whaddya mean?"

"What are _we_, are we fuck buddies or something? Or-"

"No" Spot cut him off.

"What?"

"We're not fuck buddies." Race looked at Spot, who's expression had changed slightly, but was still unreadable. It really pissed Race off that he was so good at reading people, their tells and strange habits, yet somehow Spot still remained a mystery wrapped in an enigma.

"Then what _are_ we?"

"More" Spot glanced over at Race, and just for a second his eyes betrayed him. Spot was scared, he didn't want to specify what they were because he was as scared as Race was. In the next moment the unreadable expression was back, but it was too late, Race now knew what that look meant, so he did the only thing that made sense for him to do when Spot was scared, he rolled on his side and put his hand on the side of Spot's face. The taller boy seemed to relax slightly at the touch, but his pride was still keeping him from letting his eyes show anything again.

"Are we boyfriends then?" Spot seemed to wince away from the word, Race was discouraged for a second, and started to draw his hand back, but Spot grabbed it.

"We're together." Spot compromised.

"So we ARE boyfriends." He smiled widely, sitting up.

"I _hate_ that word." Spot glared and sat up too.

"Too fucking bad, your _my_ goddamn boyfriend." Race pounced onto the younger boy, grabbing him around the waist and rolling him onto the floor.

"I fucking hate you." Spot, who had landed on his back and seemed rather uncomfortable, responded.

"No, you really don't, because we're _dating_." Race leaned his face in closer to Spot's, grinning like the cat that caught the canary.

"That one's even _worse_" Spot flipped them over, so that Race was sprawled under him, and kissed him with everything he had.

* * *

When Race arrived at school in the morning, pre-calculus homework only half done and hair still wet from a shower, he had overslept and almost missed the bus, he was tired as fuck. He leaned his head against his locker for a second before opening it. His first period of the day was accel Italian, which was the easiest thing in the world for him, his mother had spoken nothing but Italian with him when he was young, so he spoke it pretty well, not as good as a native from Italy, but he was fluent enough. So he slammed his locker shut, and walked to class. Upon entering the classroom he saw that they had nothing of importance going on today, and he immediately sank into a half asleep stupor, wishing that he had thought to grab a monster or some coffee before school, barely even noticing it when his teacher assigned three pages out of their workbook for homework.

He grabbed the aforementioned book and opened it to the assigned pages, scribbling in the answers, which came easily to him, before dropping his head onto the book, turning to face the clock, and checking the time. He still had another 15 minutes left in the class, yet it felt like he had been there for an eternity. He closed his eyes for what felt like a moment, but must have been longer, because when he opened them again his teacher was in front of him, giving him a stern look.

"Tony, have you finished your work?" Race blinked and rubbed his eyes, looking up towards Mrs. Silkaitis, his Italian teacher. She wasn't very tall, yet still had an inch or two on Race, with curly blond hair and a kind face. She was a good teacher, not a pushover, but not an asshole either, and she always knew how to make Race feel just a little bit guilty. She was one of his favorite teachers, and he had just been caught sleeping through her class. He felt like such a shit, and she was still giving him a questioning look, so he answered her previous question.

"Sì, io sono finito" He responded in Italian, knowing that it would help gain her approval. She looked down at his workbook to check and see if he was in fact done, nodding at the completed work.

"Okay, now you can read, do your homework from other classes, or study for the test next week, but no sleeping. Capisce?" He looked up at her and nodded unhappily.

"Capisco"

* * *

When the period finally ended after what felt like another hour, though it was only about 10 minutes in reality, he started to sluggishly make his way toward study hall, bumping into someone, and starting to apologize before he noticed it was Blink, smiling hugely and holding out a cup, which was covered, but smelled like a very coffee-like heaven. Race grabbed the drink and nodded his thanks at Blink before taking a long sip. It was still warm, which was surprising as it was almost second period.

"Did you skip first period again?" Race asked his friend, who grinned slightly and shrugged.

"Slept in, woke up a half hour after school started, figured that nobody really cares about economics anyway, so I got us some coffee instead and skipped the rest of the period." Race smiled and gripped his drink with both hands, relishing the warmth.

"Well, your screwing yourself, but it gets me coffee, so go ahead and keep on bringing me shit." As it so happened, Race and Blink had managed to have second period together, which was study hall, and they had chosen seats at the very back of the room. The study hall room about 3 times the size of a normal classroom, so they were quite far from the 'teacher.'

The supervisor for study hall, Oscar Delancey, was an unpleasant man, he always picked favorites, who were normally the preppy kids who played all the sports and did well in school, and he hated Blink and Racetrack with a burning passion. He and his brother, who was a security guard, had been trying to make their lives a living hell since freshman year. Race thought it was quite an accomplishment to be their most disliked students in a school with over 4,000 other moody teenagers to hate.

Nevertheless, he could never manage to keep them from talking during the period, as everyone else was 'sneakily' communicating as well, which pissed off the son of a bitch, and made Race laugh his ass off. As the bell rang, Race took out his unfinished pre-calculus homework and stared at it for a minute or so, trying to figure out one of the problems he had yet to finish, before groaning and letting his head fall to the worksheet.

Blink looked over at him curiously, reading the papers that Race so desperately wanted to rip to shreds.

"Having some trouble there Tony?" He questioned happily, leaning back in his chair and putting his hands behind his head, looking like a cocky asshole. Race flipped him off, sat up, and took a sip of his coffee, relishing in the bitterness, a welcome wake up call.

"My class did that stuff last week, I'm pretty sure we learned it last year man." Blink told Race, grabbing the shorter boys papers and writing in the answers. Race smiled at his friend, who was actually good at math, and told him.  
"If you recall, I wasn't very good at math last year either."

"You weren't just 'not very good' Racetrack, you sucked. Truly sucked." Blink teased, and Race reached over to whack him, before seeing Mr. Delancey walking towards him and thinking better of it.

"What the fuck did we do wrong now?" He asked Blink, who shrugged and covered Race's work with his own.

"Mr. Higgins, as you well know, it is against the rules to have drinks in class." The older man said, gesturing towards the board on the wall, which listed the do's and do not's of study hall.

"Ah, so it does, but Oscar, as _you_ can see, it also says that sleeping isn't allowed, and this coffee is the only thing keeping me awake, so I believe that I chose the lesser of two evils." He replied with a totally fake innocent look and a smile. Oscar glared, grabbed Race's coffee, and glanced at Blink, who was trying not to laugh.

"Well, having this drink is still against the rules, so I think I'm going to have to _confiscate_ it." And he took a long swig of the coffee, wrinkling his nose in a way that was much less cute than when Spot did it, and added.

"Really? Black coffee? Are you even actually a teenager? Put some sugar in at least." He shook his head, a slight smile playing on his lips, and walked away.

"I paid for that." Blink muttered, glaring at the retreating figure.

"Fucking prick." Race nodded, "I wanted that fucking coffee."

Blink looked at him sympathetically, then went back to doing Race's homework, and he smiled.

"You are the best friend in the whole fucking world Blinkie." He exclaimed, before remembering a conversation he had had with Blink the day before.

"So how did your second date with a certain young orphan I know go?" He questioned, trying not to laugh at the dreamy expression that came over Blink's face when he mentioned Mush.

"Wonderful, we went to dinner then saw Guardians of the Galaxy." Race cocked his head to the mention of the film.

"That movie with the talking raccoon? Not exactly romantic is it?" he questioned.

"Matthew _made_ it romantic, I don't even know how, I mean it's a space comedy, not romantic at all, but the whole date was just fucking amazing." Race was slightly afraid that Blink was going to manage to split his face in half, as his smile had grown impossibly wider.

"So I guess Mush was aptly nicknamed, he is indeed, a totally Mushy romantic." Race snorted, noting how perfect Blink and Mush would be together.

"Oh yeah, Tony, how's it going with the mystery guy?" Blink questioned, remembering the small bits of information Race had been feeding him for the past week about a guy who he had recently started pseudo dating.

"Um, pretty well I guess, we finally talked and stuff." Blink looked up at him, surprised.

"And?! What did he say? Does he like you? Are you guys in _wuvvv_? Are you gonna get-"

"We're together." Race cut him off, knowing Blink could go on for hours once he got started.

"Really? That's great man, are you ever gonna tell me who it is? Because if you don't I'm gonna list all my guesses, and If I guess wrong then you'll get all pissy with me, and neither of us want to go through that. So, it would be easier for everyone involved if you just tell me who it is." Blink reasoned, and Race looked at him for a second, before responding.

"I'm not sure if that made actual sense or not, but it somehow was also surprisingly convincing."  
"What can I say? I've got a talent." Blink shrugged, grinning widely. "So, who is it." Race sighed, knowing that he would never be left alone if he didn't tell Blink who it was, but also really not wanting to tell Blink, who he was sure would try for double dates and all that coupley shit that he _knew_ Spot would never agree to.

"If I tell you, you have to promise to not tell anyone, not even David, okay?" He asked, staring at Blink unblinkingly, looking for any hints that he might not be telling the truth.

"Cross my heart and hope to die." Blink promised, and Race nodded at his friend, before running his hand through his hair nervously, looking around, leaning closer to Blink, and barely muttering above a whisper.

"It's Sean." Blink's eye bugged out for a second, and he gaped, before firing off about 10 questions in quick succession.  
"_Your_ _roommate? That_ Sean? The grumpy guy? So, wait, how does that work? I mean you _live_ together, that's gotta be kinda weird. Does anybody else know? Wait, do you really like him? I mean I get that he's kinda hot, in a pretty boy kinda way. I didn't know he was your type. I thought that you liked men who looked like men. Oh my god you guys could make a really cute couple, you both act like grumpy old men. Do you think you guys could go out with me and Mush sometime? Because that would be really co-"

"Oh my fucking god shut the fuck up before I beat _myself_ to death." Race managed to get out, and Blink put his hands up in mock surrender before grinning evilly leaning in closer, and adding.

"So how big's his dick?" and Race sighed, mimed shooting himself in the head, and put his face down on his desk, trying to block out the laughing coming from his left.

* * *

If Race had been tired before the day began, by the end of the school day he was about ready to sleep while still standing up. He made his way towards his bus, the same bus that the rest of the boys from the shelter took, and waited for it to arrive. As he waited, Mush walked up to him and smiled at him in a knowing way that made Race highly suspicious.

"So Spotty, eh?" Race internally growled, he was going to kill Blink, then bring him back to life and torture him, before killing him again, stealing his money, and buying himself a cookie.

"Ryan told you."

"Oh, don't blame him, I have great powers of deduction combined with my own special ways of getting information out of people." Race looked at the boy, who had a sweet smile on his face, and looked about as dangerous as a bunny, wondering if Mush was secretly an adorable psychopath, before shaking off the thought looking in the direction that the bus would be coming from.

"Anyway, I guess I should tell you that I don't care that your gay and all that stuff, none of the guys will either, they all know about me, and none of them could care less who I date, only guy who ever gave me a hard time got a talking to from Jack, never messed with me again." Mush confided in him, making Race wonder what strange new world he had come into, he had become accustomed to the idea of staying in the closet his whole life when he was younger. He had heard so many stories of people who were beaten just because someone suspected that they might be gay, so the idea of people just not caring was completely foreign to him. He had a strange feeling in his chest, one that he couldn't name, but it was warm, and it kinda made him feel like he was floating. Giddy might fit it, but it still wasn't quite on the money.

"Thanks." He muttered to Mush, who smiled at him kindly and put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it slightly, a gesture of friendship, before the bus arrived to take them back to the group home.

* * *

When he entered his room, he found Spot already sitting at his desk, reading a book and tapping a pencil on his thigh. He looked up and nodded in Race's direction when he walked in, then went back to his book, while Race emptied the contents of his backpack onto the floor next to his bed, and stared at it for a second, before grabbing his global studies homework, and sitting at his own desk. He read through the questions and ran his hand through his hair.

It wasn't like he had a ton of difficulty with school, he was bad at math, sure, numbers didn't make sense to him, but he got science just fine, and he wasn't half bad in english, but he hated busywork with a passion. He had never been the sort of kid who could just sit down and work at something, he was always on his feet, always thinking a way around an obstacle. He was great with hands on things, and he had been able to talk circles around his elders since he was 7 years old, and he had started helping his dad with some minor cons. His specialty, however, was reading people. Because he was small, and looked young, people had never seen him as an equal at the tracks, thinking he was naive, so he used it to his advantage, tricking them into betting way more than they would have if they had even considered that he might be actual competition, reading their tells like it was a picture book.

As his mind wandered away from his homework, and to some of his more fond memories of the track, which he hadn't gotten a chance to go back to after he had ended up in foster care, he tapped his pencil against the table absentmindedly, not even noticing that he was doing it until Spot grabbed the pencil out of his hand, and said.

"If you keep on doing that, I'm going to stab you with my own damn pencil." Race smiled cheekily, glad for the distraction from the work that he hadn't actually intended to finish.

"Who pissed in your cheerios, grumpy?"

"Shaddup, you're no better in the mornings." Spot replied while rubbing his eyes, clearly crashing from a long day.

"I was wondering how you can be so damn peppy when you wake up."

"I didn't think that you're brain could process things before 10 am."

"It can't without coffee, didn't have time to grab one this morning."

"Your own damn fault."

"Actually, I think that you could be held liable for makin me stay up late." Race got out of his chair and sat on top of Spot's desk.

"Well, you weren't complaining then." Spot replied with a smirk.

"Who says I'm complaining now." Race grinned, kissing Spot briefly before backing away, leaving the younger man with his mouth slightly open, staring at Race, before reaching upward and grabbing the back of Race's neck, bringing him in for a longer kiss, one that left them both breathless.

"Hey, just outta curiousity, you're not deep in the closet or anything, are you?" Race asked quickly, before Spot could entirely collect his brains.

"Um, not really, I mean I don't broadcast it or anything..." Spot trailed off, looking up at Race, then standing as something appeared to dawn on him. "What did you do?"

"I might have maybe mentioned it to Blink, who then admitted it to Mush after suspicious circumstances. So I think that Blink might have kinda just outed me, not sure if I'm mad about it yet." Spot seemed to consider this, tilting his head and wrinkling his nose in a way that was very _Spot_.

"Well, that was pretty quick, It's usually at least a week before my boyfriends try to out me to all my friends." Race paled a little bit, hoping he hadn't fucked everything up, before taking note of a certain word that Spot had never used before.

"So I am your boyfriend." Spot nodded, then added.

"And they all already know I'm a fag." And Race let out a breath he hadn't known he had been holding.

"And it's true that nobody cares, about the gay thing I mean?"

"Nah, they're cool, plus, they know not to mess with me."

"What, they afraid of your spindly little arms." Race stood and shoved Spot playfully in the arm.

"I'm a lot stronger than I look, and you shouldn't be talking short stuff." Spot stood too, showing off the hight that he had on Race.

"I'm not that fucking short! And I'm probably still growing some anyway." He crossed his arms indignantly.

"Sorry Tony, but I think all that coffee worked against you, you're seventeen, you're not gonna grow anymore." The younger boy stated, fake apologies in his voice.

"Well you're not all that tall either." Race snarked.

"Yet still a good five or six inches taller than you."

"You're probably about five eight, not that tall for a guy"

"And you're barely five-three, stop trying to convince people you're taller." Race threw his hands up in the air, letting out an irritated noise.

"AGHHHH" And he fell, face-down, onto his mattress, covering his ears with his hands.

"Look! You even act like a child!" Spot commented as he sat next to him on the bed.

"You're such a shit, you know that?" Race said into the blankets

"Hippocratic much?" Spot questioned

"I hate you." He mumbled

"No you don't" Spot stated absentmindedly, not even considering the possibility.

"I wish I did"

"No, you don't" And fuck if that wasn't true, because Race liked Spot far to much to hate him, Spot, who pissed him off so often, was also one of his favorite people in the whole world, and Race couldn't even _imagine_ really truly hating the guy. But he would never admit that to Spot himself, so instead he just kissed him again, kissed him until his jaw hurt, and allowed Spot to pull him closer, slinking an arm around Race's shoulder while the short boy's head rested on his chest. They just lay there for a second, listening to each others breathing, before Race broke the silence.

"I don't hate you." The blond boy let out a half laugh.

"I know." Spot was one of the only people who he seemed to never be able to read, who could be flat out lying to him and he wouldn't be any wiser, he had perfected his ability to lie to the point that he didn't appear to have any tells at all. But there was something about him that made Race trust him anyway. And he knew that that should terrify him, but it didn't, and that scared him more

**Thank you for reading, I promise the plot will pick up soon (next chapter). This was not my best chapter so far, so I swear to make the next one the very best that I can do. Shout-out's to Always-SpRace and monkeepeanut for reviewing, I hope you liked it!**


	8. Of Trials and Tribulations

**Okay, I have no excuses. Well, actually, I have at least 5, but they're no good. I've been a bad story momma, and no matter how much homework I had or how difficult AP classes can be, there is no excuse for bad mothering. On the upside, this chapter is my longest yet, it took me so long to write, and then I had to read it to myself to see if it sounded right. I should probably find a beta... but I digress. Oh, also, just reread EYDW, and it is still amazing, that fic just makes me happy.**

**Anywho, My rambling is just obnoxious at this point, so lets just get to the goddamn story already!**

Saturday afternoons were Racetrack's favorite time of the week. It was that little golden period where you've just gotten more sleep than you have had in the past week, and you have the entirety of Sunday to do your homework, so you can just curl up in a ball in the coziest clothes you can find and drink coffee and read. Race wasn't exactly a bookie person, but he could appreciate a good read every once in a while, and he liked the quiet of his room while everyone else was downstairs, it was like his own little world. He grabbed his coffee off the floor beside him, where he was sitting at the foot of his bed, and took a long sip, glancing up as a phone began to ring.

He stared around the room for a second, wondering if they even actually _had_ a phone in here, before remembering the shitty thing on the wall next to his desk. He had been fairly sure that the telephone didn't work, and had given up at trying to call David after the 6 got stuck for the umpteenth time, making him accidentally call a Mexican restaurant for the fifth time (that day). But it was ringing now. He put his book down on the floor and stood up, shuffling over to the archaic thing, and picking it up.

"Hello?"

"Ah, good, Tony, I wasn't sure if this was the right number or not, Kloppman doesn't have the best handwriting." The voice on the other end was familiar, with a memorable uncertain quality to it.

"Riley? I thought you said it would take a while to get placed somewhere." Race questioned, worried that they were going to ship him off to some fucked up family just when things were going so well here.

"No, I'm sorry, you're going to have to stay there for a while, but I thought I would tell you that your father's trial is soon, it's this Friday." While he was relieved that he could stay in the group home, which had recently started to feel kinda like a real home, he was also irritated at the mention of his father, who he had been doing his best to put in his past over the last few weeks.

"What the fuck does that have to do with me anymore, you're the one that took me away from him, it's none of my business what the fuck happens to him." He was momentarily distracted by the door opening and Spot walking in, holding an apple and a newspaper. The skinny boy gave him an odd look, obviously curious about who he was on the phone with, but shrugged it off and went to his own desk, taking out a pen and starting on the paper's crossword.

"It's your business, Antonio, because we need your help to get a good conviction, if you testify then your father will definitely be staying in jail for a long time." Race shook his head slightly, not pleased with this conversation.

"And I told you before, you can get your conviction without me, you don't testify on family, and that's that." Spot looked up at Race, eyebrows raised slightly, but stayed silent.

"You just said that he was in your past, that he wasn't your business, does that really make him family anymore?" Race ran his hand through his hair, thinking about what the rest of the family would do to him if he testified, he knew how his uncles minds worked, and his father had been the runt of the litter, if he testified, he would be fucked, and not in a fun way. Along with that it had always been stressed into him that family was the most important thing, without it, you have nothing. His father was the only family he had left.

"We've got the same blood, and that'll never change, I already told you, it's not happening." Spot was still staring, giving him a strange look that made Race wish that he wasn't in the room during this conversation.

"If you would just consider-" He gritted his teeth and glared at the wall as he interrupted.

"I. Said. No." And he slammed the phone down angrily, getting yet another raised eyebrow from Spot.

"I see you got the phone to work." Spot stated flatly

"Yeah."

"Social worker?" The taller boy questioned as he lounged back in his chair.

"Yeah."

"Still not testifying?" Spot stared at him with a strange expression.

"Nope." He popped the p in the word, and stared right back.

"So your gonna let your pops get away with beating you? Just 'cuz he's blood? That's the biggest load of crap I've ever heard." Race looked over at Spot, glaring and clenching his fists.

"Fuck off, you don't know shit about my family."

"Relatives are just blood. Sure, your technically related to the fucking geniuses who forgot to use birth control before fucking each others brains out, but family is what you make it. I'm sure as hell not related to my mom."

"It's more then that for me, my mom always told me family is everything growing up. And dad was real serious about loyalty. It's more than just relatives for us, family is always there for you."

"Look how well that turned out, where's mommy dearest now? Did she ever do shit about you getting hit? And what about daddy? I'm sure that he was always there, looking over your shoulder, prepared to teach you a lesson by beating you to a pulp" Race looked up at the mention of his mother.

"Fuck you! You wanna know where my mom is? Try six feet under, you fucking douchebag, don't you dare say shit about her." He took a step towards Spot as he raised his voice, ready to punch Spot if he said anything else similar to his last comment, but Spot's eyes widened slightly, and he stared at Race for a second before replying.

"Shit, sorry, it's just you don't really mention her, so I figured she split like my dad. Fuck, I didn't know, shit." Race, who was loosing steam fast, unclenched his fists, staring at the floor for a second, realizing who he was talking to, and what had been said.

"Fuck, you had no way of knowing, that's on me man, I shouldn't have freaked out, but I just... I can't testify, okay? It just goes against everything I've ever known, even if they're really not my family anymore." Spot nodded, stood up, and simply pulled Race into a hug, with Spot's right hand on the back of the shorter boy's head, and left on the small of his back. Race tentatively reached his own hands up and put them around his boyfriend's skinny waist, relaxing into the hug, and feeling himself calm down, glad that the conversation was over, and that Spot knew not to push him anymore, or at least for the moment. And that moment was perfection.

* * *

Later that afternoon, Race found himself sprawled across the smaller of the two couches, with Mush on the other one, watching a Queer as Folk rerun. He wasn't exactly sure how this had happened, as he had come downstairs with every intention of actually doing something with his life, but he had been distracted by an episode of Law and Order, and had sat down, only to have Mush change the channel after the episode ended, and he had just been to cozy to consider getting up again at that point. One rather unnerving fact about the situation was that he was getting way too interested in the episode.

"So Brian kicked out Justin because he knew Brian had cancer?" He asked Mush, who smirked at the comment, clearly feeling successful in pulling Race into the show.

"Yeah, guy's got some serious issues, but he's hot, so he gets away with it." Race, smiled, and looked around as the door opened, revealing Blink and David standing in the doorway.

"Ryan! I didn't know you were coming by today!" Mush exclaimed, and got up off the couch to go greet Blink enthusiastically.

"Hey Dave" Race nodded at David, who had walked past Blink and Mush and proceeded to move Race's feet so that he could sit down. "Whatcha doin here?"

"Blink called me, we were both bored, and we figured there's always someone around here," David replied, leaning back on the couch.

"Yeah, it's a full house, but I've been watching Queer as Folk for the last twenty minutes or so, so I need you to amuse me right now, because I might be gay, but this-" He gestured at the television "is _not_ happening." David smiled at him and stood up, walked over to the TV, and finagled with the controls until he had switched the input from the cable box to the beat up Nintendo Wii, which somehow still worked, despite missing part of the white outer covering. Blink and Mush, who had finished their hello's and were standing behind the couch, made their way over to the larger of the two couches, and Blink put an arm around Mush, and held a hand out to catch the remote as David threw one at him. David simply handed remotes to Mush and Race, before going back to the couch, and setting up to play Brawl.

"Hey Dave, have I ever told you that you're one of my favorite people in the whole wide world?" Blink looked over at David as he chose his character for the game - Samus was his favorite, that chick is badass. David glanced over at Blink with a bored expression.

"What do you want?" Blink put on an obviously fake look of offense.

"What makes you think that I want anything? Can't I just compliment one of my best friends on his attributes as a human being?" David raised an eyebrow, glanced at the screen and selected Kirby as his character, then glanced back at Blink, who's facade crumbled. "Could I copy your answers from that economics packet we got the other day? I swear we didn't actually learn half the shit on it."

"No, we learned it, you're just always 'sick' first period, I swear to god if I have to explain the entire unit to you for every test like I had to last year I am going to get angry." David shook his head as he spoke, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Will I not like you when your angry, Bruce Banner?" Blink replied with a smirk.

"You are so infuriating." David stated, looking thoroughly through the different possible arena's. He was so intent on his search for the perfect stadium that he hadn't noticed when the door had opened and Jack had walked into the room.

"Who's infuriating?" He questioned, and David's head whipped around so fast that Race was surprised that he didn't get whiplash.

"Blink."

"Ah, well, I don't know him too good yet, but-"

"_Well_" David interrupted, "You don't know him too well."

"Yeah yeah, whatever. So I don't know him to _well _yet, but he seems like a kinda annoying guy so far." Jack smiled cockily as he finished his sentence, and Mush threw a pillow at his face.

"He's _perfect_." The chocolate skinned boy stated, then stuck his tongue out at Jack, who threw the pillow back and clambered up to sit on the back of the couch, behind David. Blink, who had only been minorly annoyed by Jack's comment, looked over at David.

"But I _can_ copy your packet right?" David rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, sure, where would you be without me?" He questioned with a grin.

"Blink would probably still be in the 5th grade." Race stated, grinning like a Cheshire cat at his friend, who flipped him off.

"I would at _least_ be a 7th grader, gimmie some credit Racetrack, and David would you pick a goddamn arena already, I wanna kick some ass." Blink grabbed at the wii-mote in David's hands, trying to choose a course quickly.

"I want to figure out which one it is that I play better on." David argued, yanking the controller back and staring at the screen.

"Does it really fucking matter, you always come in last anyway." Race commented, "You gotta face it Dave, you suck ass at video games."

"Hey, be nice to Davey, he's still innocent." Jack interjected, holding his hands over David's ears while the Jewish boy whacked at his arms.

"Innocent my ass, the guy's some sort of conniving genius." Blink disagreed giving David a suspicious look, "I'm pretty sure he's always the mastermind behind all of our escapades, and yet only Race and I ever get in trouble." Jack looked down at David, who was laughing quietly.

"Hey! That's true! Have you been settin us up?" Race questioned, just realizing himself that he had never remembered David getting busted and ending up in detention with him and Blink.

"Well, you could see it as me setting you up, or just face the reality that you guys aren't as good at talking yourself outta situations." David replied, finally choosing an arena of his liking.

"So you're some kinda walkin mouth." A familiar voice said from the doorway. Spot was leaning against the doorframe, smirk firmly in place as he looked at David curiously.

"Spotty! I didn't notice you come down." Jack smiled at Spot, who nodded at Jack in recognition.

"That's 'cuz you guys were talking loud enough for half the city to hear. Oh, and in case you haven't noticed, the round already started Mouth, Samus just pushed you off a cliff." David looked over at the TV to find that he had indeed been murdered, and immediately hit Samus with Kirby's hammer, sending him flying out off the arena as well.

"Woah, got some repressed anger over there buddy?" Race joked, and David glared at Race, then went after the Italian boy's character, Pikachu, with his hammer.

Fifteen minutes and two rounds later, Race handed his controller to Jack, who had been whining about not being able to play, and headed over to the kitchen to get some snacks. He found some microwave popcorn and a two liter of off brand lemon lime soda, then tried to grab a family-size bag of Doritos, only to find that he couldn't quite reach them. He glared at the bag, and jumped a little, making a snatch at it, only to find that it was out of his reach by barely an inch. He groaned internally, cursing his short stature, and made another leap for it, missing again. He heard a chuckle from the other side of the room, and he froze. He knew that chuckle. He also very much wished that he hadn't heard that chuckle, but as he turned to face the entrance to the room, he found an amused looking Spot staring at him and leaning against the doorframe.

"Having some trouble there Tony?" The taller boy asked innocently.

"Fuck off." Race glared, then glanced at the Doritos, then back at Spot.

"You know, you could try jumping again, that might work, third times a charm right?" Spot started towards him, doing nothing to hide the laughter in his voice, and Race wasn't sure if he wanted to punch him or kiss him.

"Why don't you grab 'em then, you ass." He snapped, but Spot just smiled, and replied smoothly.

"Why should I?" Race glared, then grabbed the younger boy by his shirt, dragging his head downward so that their lips met. Spot responded immediately as Race slid his arms around the taller boy's neck. Their mouths moved together in sync, a battle for dominance that neither had any intention on loosing. Spot's hands moved into Race's hair, pulling him impossibly closer before removing his mouth from the dark haired boy's lips and kissing along his jawline. He ran his tongue along Race's earlobe before moving down towards his clavicle, sucking - biting - on the smooth expanse of skin where the shorter boy's neck met his torso.

Race's eyes were closed, and he was holding onto Spot like his life depended on it, letting out the occasional half moan, but trying to stay quiet because of the people in the next room. Wait, people who he went to grab snacks for. Snacks. Right, they were in the kitchen, and no matter how much they both wanted to, he couldn't do this with Spot in the middle of a kitchen they shared with a couple dozen other boys. He pulled back slightly, but still not letting go of Spot, and whispered in the blond's ear.

"Now go grab me those chips." Before walking over to microwave the popcorn, leaving Spot with a half bemused half disappointed expression. He heard the rustle of the chip bag, and smiled as thin arms wound their way around his waist loosely from behind. Maybe his hight wasn't such a misfortune after all.

* * *

A knock on the door interrupted them from their fourth game of go fish, and Race was more than happy for an excuse to abandon a game he had branded 'The Biggest Waste For A Deck Of Cards In The History Of The Universe.' Well, he was happy for the interruption until he opened the door. Riley was standing at the threshold, and Race spotted his car parked on the curb. He looked straight into the social worker's eyes and stated flatly.

"No." Then moved to close the door, only to have the older man stick out his foot to keep him from doing so.

"I'm not gonna ask you that again, okay? I just want you to talk to someone." Race looked at him suspiciously, then glanced back over his shoulder towards the boys, who were all staring back with confused expressions. Spot nodded slightly, and Race sighed.

"Who?" Riley smiled, taking that as a sign that he was at least considering it.

"Bryan Denton, he's the man who called the police the night we removed you from your father's home." Race thought that was a rather delicate way of saying 'the night your dad tried to murder you with his fists'

"Why do you want me to talk to him?" Race questioned, running a hand through his hair distractedly.

"Uh, to collaborate your stories." The man didn't sound all to sure of himself.

"Something makes me think that that's not quite legal. Not sure if its the unfortunate phrasing or the shaky voice." Riley smiled sheepishly, but pushed on nonetheless.

"So will you meet him?" Race looked over at Spot again, knowing he would get shit about it if he refused, sighed at his long-suffering, and turned back towards Riley.

"Fine." He muttered, waving his goodbye to the other boys as Riley positively beamed, put an arm around his shoulders and walking him towards the car while Race looked up at him with a pinched expression.

"Could you not?" He said, shrugging out from under the taller man's arm and walking beside him, but Riley just smiled again, unlocked the car and gestured for Race to get in.

"Your Majesty" He said with a slight bow.

"I find that the more I get to know you, the weirder you get." The Italian commented as he got into the car, watching as Riley walked around to the drivers side, taking a seat and starting the engine before responding to Race's somewhat insulting comment.

"Oh, I'm reeling it in, scare off one too many kids and they stop giving you a Christmas bonus." Race snorted and put on his seatbelt.

"Well, that's just plain unfair."

They met Bryan Denton at a relatively empty Starbucks on the outskirts of the city center. The man was sitting cross legged on one of the comfy chairs in the back of the shop and sipping at his tea while reading the entertainment section of a newspaper. He was middle aged, probably in his late thirty's, with brown hair and kind eyes. He was wearing tan pants, brown shoes, and an unbuttoned tweed vest over a plain white dress shirt, and a truly horrible tie was fastened neatly around his neck. As they walked through the door, a small bell chimed over their heads, signifying their entrance to Denton, who looked up, saw Riley, and smiled, rising out of his chair to shake the younger man's hand. He looked over at Race and held out his hand politely while introducing himself.

"Bryan Denton, and you must be Antonio, good to meet you." Race shook the extended hand, nodded and mumbled,

"Uh, you too" before looking back over to Riley for help, but the older man just clapped him on his back and said he would be back in a bit, then proceeded to leave Race with a stranger in a coffee shop. He wasn't exactly sure what he was supposed to do in a situation like this. There wasn't really a norm for these circumstances, was he supposed to say thank you? Buy him a drink? Discuss the night that he had tried so hard to put into the past? He once again wondered why this man would want to meet him.

"Would you like something to drink Antonio? You strike me as a coffee drinker yourself." Race wrinkled his nose at the overuse of his full name, and fiddled with the fraying hem of his shirt, wishing that he could have a cigarette.

"It's Tony. And yeah, I am, but you don't gotta pay, I got my own money."

"No, no, no, I insist. Now, what would you like?" Race wondered why the man was so nice, but glanced up at the menu anyway, he wasn't going to turn down some free coffee if the guy was really offering. They ordered his drink - just a plain dark roast coffee - and stood to the side while the girl brewed it.

"I guess you're probably wondering why I wanted to talk to you." Denton said, even his goddamn voice sounded like it was grinning.

"Yeah, I kinda was, I mean I don't even know if your supposed to talk to me at all before the trial. Couldn't this mess all this shit up?" Denton smiled a little at his comment.

"Well, I'm no lawyer, so I'm not sure about all that, but I do know that if you don't testify then your father may get off anyway." Race snorted.

"My father was found literally on top of me, the police officer had to pull him off, then my wonderful daddy punched a cop in the face. He's going to prison." Denton nodded, but replied all the same.

"That will get him some time for sure, but it could be less than a year, the city of New York has varying laws on this type of stuff. You need a strong testimony to get someone put away for years." Race narrowed his eyes slightly, but Denton kept on talking "We have proof for one account of child abuse, and no testimony, beyond a few suspicious X-rays, of any past abuse. Tony, I am fully aware that I don't know anything about you or your family, but I'm fairly certain that you would prefer to have your father in jail for as long as possible. Your testimony could put him away for a long time." Race was leaning over his coffee with his head leaning on his right hand as he contemplated the older man's words.

"I dunno Mr. Denton, it ain't really an easy decision, even if he can be a real asshole, he's still the only family I got left." Denton nodded with understanding.

"But if someone treats you wrong, if they don't respect you and love you no matter what, then they aren't really your family. Sure, you've got the same genes, that's a connection you can never change, and you may still care about them, but family is what you make it. Now if you can look me in the eye and tell me that man is really your family, then I won't push it, but if not, I want you to at least consider testifying. And please, call me Bryan." He didn't sound like he was lecturing Race, like Spot had earlier in the morning, he appeared completely earnest, and - as far as Race could tell - he wasn't lying. So he looked straight into Denton's eyes, knowing that he could flat out lie. He could say that his father was his family, and the man wearing that ridiculous bow tie would never know a thing, but for a reason he couldn't explain, what he said instead was.

"I'll think about it."

* * *

When Racetrack got back to the group home, he had one of those moments when you put your hand on the doorknob to open it, only to find that there's someone on the other side who opens the door before you, leaving you both standing there staring at each other for a second. Once Kid Blink had shaken himself out of his surprised confusion, he smiled broadly and put an arm around the smaller boy.

"Race! You won't believe what happened while you were gone! Remember Charlie, the kid with the crutch from the hospital?" Blink said this all very quickly while leading him through the doorway, and Race glanced around at the commotion. The relative emptiness from earlier in the day was gone, and it appeared that almost every boy was now downstairs chattering happily. At the center of the group was a familiar tall boy sporting a wooden crutch and a smile, which only got larger when he saw Racetrack. "Tadaaaa!" Blink exclaimed happily, before slapping him on the back and walking over to stand next to Mush.

"Hiya Tony! I was wonderin if they had sent ya to this place, it's good ta see ya again." Crutchy's smile was as wide as ever, and he made his way over to pat Race on the back, moving surprisingly well for someone with a gimpy foot.

"It's good to see you too, have you been in the hospital all this time?"

"Yeah, I got this real simple heart surgery, I was s'possed to be out a few weeks ago, but it got an infection or somethin and they had me stay a little while longah, I think they just wanted the state to keep on payin 'em.'" The tall boy's optimism in the face of a bad deal in life amazed Racetrack. Crutchy was 17 years old and his heart was worse then the average 60 year old's, yet somehow he was always smiling, always joking around, it was remarkable. In some twisted way, Race was jealous of Crutchy. He pushed the thought out of his mind and joined into the conversation between Crutchy and Jack, the good mood of the room infecting him. He spotted Spot off to the side and went over to stand by him, politely excusing himself from the two other boys first.

"So where did the guy take you." The skinny boy asked without any greeting.

"To see the guy that called the police on my pops." Race admitted, and Spot shot him a questioning look.

"What the fuck did _that_ guy want?"

"For me to testify. Seriously, what has gotten into people lately, I get it already, testifying will get daddy dearest stuck in jail for a few more years." Spot smiled a little at Race's annoyance, and that just made him more irritated.

"So are you gonna?" Spot asked, and Race glared.

"We had this conversation earlier." He replied moodily, not feeling like discussing it again. Spot shot him a very knowing look.

"You're avoiding the question." He stated, smirking slightly, and he leaned forward a bit. "So I'm taking that as you're going to, but you're to prideful to admit that someone got you to change your mind." Spot's face was inches away from his, his smile as wide as his ears, it was the expression he got when he knew he was right, and Race kinda hated it. But he kinda loved it too.

"Shut _up_." Race replied, but couldn't help smiling as well. Spot moved impossibly closer, and whispered lowly.

"Make me." And then Race moved without thinking, pushing his lips against Spot's, cupping the back of the taller boy's head as his whole body seemed to light on fire. Spot responded to the kiss enthusiastically, his own hands winding into Race's hair. It didn't matter that they were surrounded by people, to them they were the only two in the room, because nothing else mattered right now besides the feel of Spot's lips against his own. At least, until a wolf whistle came from his left. He froze momentarily, opening his eyes and glancing around, only to see Blink smiling wickedly.

"Whoooooo! Get some Tony!" He hollered rowdily. Race smirked at the sight, then stuck out his tongue before replying.

"Go get laid and leave me alone, ass." And then he turned back to Spot, grabed his shirt, and pulled him down into a fierce kiss, all while flipping Blink off over his shoulder.

* * *

The trial was nothing like Race had expected. It was in your average courtroom with a bored looking jury, but beyond that, he hadn't really known what to anticipate. Over the past few weeks, his father had become this huge idea in his head, even when he was where he could no longer attack Race physically, his memory still had his son shaking in his boots, but somehow in reality he seemed smaller then Race remembered. He was still frightening, with a scowl on his lips and something in his eyes that would make a weaker man run screaming, but he was no longer the living nightmare that Race had shared a house with for seventeen years.

Another surprise, for Race at least, was that he was pleading guilty. He guessed that it must have been the lawyers idea, as he knew full well that Gennero Higgins would never have pleaded guilty without the knowledge that he had no other choice, but it was still a shock nonetheless. Along with this, the trial was nothing like the court cases you see on television. It was rather boring, with no surprise twist or outburst halfway through, and Race found himself staring at the wall while dreading going up to the witness stand.

All three of his father's brothers were there, and that's what scared Race most, because maybe he could put his father away, but what was he supposed to do about the bastard's siblings? They all stared at him angrily as he wiped his sweaty palms on his pants when his name was called. There was no backing down now.

* * *

The time after the trial felt like some strange out of body experience, and he found himself walking into Blink's house at 11:00 at night without any clear memory of how he had gotten there. He made his way towards the basement, and opened the door, hearing soft chatter from below. As he walked down the stairs, the talking stopped, and when he made it to the bottom, all eyes were on him. They had agreed the day before to meet here, partially so they could drink, as Blink had had a feeling that Race might need a beer after seeing his father again, and partially so David and Blink could be involved, they had gotten special permission from Kloppman to stay out for the night at Blink's place.

"So?" David asked tentatively. "How'd it go?" The silence was deafening as Race took a deep breath, then he smiled broadly.

"Eight years." There was a quiet for a second as the news sunk in, "He got eight years." Then Blink cheered, and the rest of the boys joined him, jumping up and nearly smothering him in a group hug, and he exclaimed unhappily, trying to get them off him, but Blink actually went so far as to pick him up, something that Race had always hated.

"Okay! OKAY! Goddamit Blink! PUT ME DOWN ALREADY!" He shouted as the blond spun him in circles happily, then reluctantly put him down.

"Jesus." He muttered, running his hand through his hair, but still smiling hugely. A finger tapped his shoulder and he turned around to find Spot grinning his signature grin, the younger boy kissed him quickly, then handed him a Budweiser. Race smiled and took a long swig, almost groaning at the taste of the liquid.

"You know, I haven't had a beer since I've been at the group home." He remarked, savoring the taste of the first sip of a cold beer after a long day.

"Well we're gonna have to fix that then." Spot replied with a mischievous spark in his eye. "Drinking contest?" He asked, holding up his own beer.

"Drinking contest." Tony nodded, and they knocked their cans together and threw 'em back.

Two hours and eleven beers (each) later, they found themselves sitting on the couch, smushed in together next to David, Mush, Jack, and Blink, who were discussing who would win in a fight between Voldemort and Darth Vader. The other boys were scattered around the basement, talking and laughing merrily, and Race could honestly say this was the happiest he had been in a long time. He leaned his head on Spot's shoulder and grinned, they were both fairly drunk, and had given up at trying to outdrink each other, now just sipping their beers slowly as they listened to the other boys talk. Spot shifted slightly beside Racetrack and put an arm around his shoulder.

"You know what Tony? You're pretty fucking amazing." Race's eyes snapped to Spot, unsure if he had heard correctly, but yes, It must have been Spot, because he was still looking at Race with an expression that made him feel like he was being pulled and held together at the same time, He tucked his head back under Spot's chin, curing in closer to the skinny boy who made him so exhilaratingly blissful, and whispered, "You are too."

**OH MY GOD I FINISHED THIS CHAPTER. HOLY SHIT THAT TOOK FOREVER.**

**Did ya like it? I hope so, because I actually think it's been generally less shitty then the last one. Sorry if Spot got a little OOC in here.**

**About the trial, note that I am a 15 year old that lives in the city of Chicago, and I truly have no idea whether or not I was correct about law in New York City, and how long someone is usually jailed for child abuse, but I did do some research on it, and I got a lot of different results, so I figured that this is realistic enough for a fanfic.**

**And now for a couple of quick shoutouts to my awesome reviewers.**

**Thank you to Always-SpRace for their wonderful reviews, and I'd like to recommend that readers who want a little more SpRace in their life read Fools with Dreams, written by this wonderful human being.**

**Also, to BeatrixBlack, thanks so much for your review, it gives a new meaning to the coupling of "Blush"**


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